


Never Again

by PrettyPrairie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 54,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22603984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyPrairie/pseuds/PrettyPrairie
Summary: Would Arya Stark really leave the Hound to his fate a second time?Consider the first time she played the Game of Faces with Jaqen H'ghar: An outlaw kidnapped me. A man called Polliver. (smack)  A man called the Hound, Sandor Clegane. He tried to sell me but he was wounded in a fight. He begged me to kill him but I wouldn't. I left him in the mountains to die. I wanted him to suffer. I hated him. (smack) I hated him. (smack) That's not a lie! (smack)A girl lies to a man; to the Many-Faced God; to herself.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Arya Stark
Comments: 174
Kudos: 199





	1. Winterfell

Jon was coming and Arya was afraid. She was afraid it wasn’t true. She was afraid that something would happen before he arrived. She hadn’t seen him since he’d left for the Wall and joined the Night’s Watch all those years ago. Arya stood amongst the Northmen lining the road into Winterfell. She wanted desperately to see Jon and make sure he was real but all she could see was endless formations of the dragon queen’s Unsullied soldiers. She had to use every bit of her Faceless training to remain motionless and not to fly screaming along the ranks searching for her brother.

She remembered the day of the Red Wedding when she was atop the hill anxiously looking down onto the Twins. She was desperate that day too. She was so close to finally getting back to her mother and Robb. She was so close and yet so far away. She remembered the Hound goading her, telling her she was afraid. That the closer she got to what she wanted the more afraid she was of not getting it. He had been right. She remembered taunting him back about his own fears and threatening to someday put her sword through his eye and right out the back of his head. The Hound wasn’t always very nice but then again, neither was she.

In the aftermath of the massacre, she blamed the Hound for getting her there too late. She blamed him for not rushing in and killing the traitors and for not trying to find her mother. Eventually, she accepted the truth of what he said. If he’d gotten her there sooner, she would have been killed as well. There was nothing they could have done to stop what had happened. The Hound had saved her life that night by knocking her unconscious and carrying her away. She didn’t blame him any longer for what had happened but it still didn’t stop her from blaming herself for surviving.

Suddenly, there was a break in the formation and there was Jon. Arya’s heart was in her mouth. The joy was so breathtaking she was struck dumb. He was riding a horse alongside the white-haired dragon queen. He rode on by without seeing her but it was alright. He had made it. He was here. He was alive.

Before she could compose herself, another figure on a tall horse caught her eye. It was the Hound. Her eyes told her so even as her brain rejected it. It could not be. It could not! But it was. His hair was longer, his beard was thicker and he looked the worse for wear but the burn scar was the same. A kind of panic overcame her. A moment later she spotted Gendry as well. She smiled slightly as she realized the God of Death had not been nearly as successful as she had believed him to be.

. . . . .

It was very difficult to accept that even though the remainder of her family had made it home to Winterfell, things were never going to be as they were before. Too much had changed. They had all been through too much. They were all terribly wounded in one way or another.

It had been hard to open up even the tiniest bit with Sansa. She didn’t want her to know the extent of what she had gone through since she last saw her. She had made the mistake of letting her sister know a little about what she had become. Sansa was now slightly afraid of her and more than a little horrified. Sansa had her own share of pain now and held herself back as well.

Sansa and she were trying. It was going to take a lot of time. Sansa had become much stronger than Arya ever thought possible. She was a lot wiser now too which made Arya sad for the loss of her innocence. Sansa no longer believed in fairy tales. Sansa and she had never gotten along as well as they should have but their stupid childhood bickering seemed unimportant now. The important thing was they still had each other.

Bran was mostly inaccessible. He was off in his own world as the Three-Eyed Raven. Every great once in awhile she could see a glimmer of him still inside but it rarely ever happened. Even though he could sometimes use his abilities to help them she still wished he was not a seer. She just wanted him to still be as he once was; her cheerful, friendly and inquisitive brother.

Reuniting with Jon had been gloriously happy. The relief of having her brother back warmed some of the coldness deep in her heart. The problem was that the happiness could not last. There was no time. The Night King and his army of the dead were coming. Winter was here. Arya had no time to try to reconnect further with Jon. They were all rushing about getting ready for the war to come.

It may have been better that way because Arya was not ready to divulge a single thing about herself that would give Jon pause. She did not want Jon to despise her. When he had tried to ask her where she had been for so long, she changed the subject and made light and easy replies or none at all. She had heard a horrible rumor that Jon had been killed by his own men at the Wall. He never brought it up but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. She had witnessed Beric Dondarrion’s resurrection with her own eyes. She knew such a thing was possible.

Arya found she could not speak to the Hound at all. She couldn’t hide anything from him. He already knew she was a monster. She’d been a monster four years ago when she’d left him for dead. As if that wasn’t bad enough, she had labored on becoming more of a monster long and hard since. She laughed bitterly as she realized she must be pretty terrible if she was ashamed of the Hound’s opinion of her.

The first time she had encountered him was at the forge where he was provoking Gendry. She had lashed out and cut him as hard as she could with her words. She had not liked him mocking Gendry but mainly she wanted to warn him to stay far away from her. She could not reopen the wounds between them. They had not healed well.

She thought about Gendry and she smiled to herself. He was still as good as ever. He’d had some hardships of his own but at least his soul was still intact. That fact gave her a great sense of relief. Even though he had once abandoned her and had not wanted to be her family; she forgave him with hardly any effort at all.

The Hound would watch her in the great hall as they dined. He would watch her in the training yard but the few times he had tried to get near she would turn and leave quickly. It wasn’t long before he stopped trying to speak to her but he did still watch. She wished he wouldn’t.

It was the night before the battle when Arya knew she couldn’t put it off any longer. She was restless and on edge. She realized if she was going to speak with the Hound she had better do it now. She didn’t want to die without making her peace with him.

She was surprised to find him out in the cold on the battlements. She knew he did not like the cold. He was sitting atop her family home waiting to protect her, her family, the North, and everyone else who lived. Arya slipped on her cold mask of indifference because she did not want him to see how vulnerable she was.

Things did not go well. She realized she was still much too angry with the Hound when she had rudely asked him what he was doing at Winterfell. Then she’d followed it up by insulting him when she’d asked him when was the last time he’d ever fought for anyone but himself. She knew it wasn’t true even as she said it; she just wanted to hurt him even more. Then he had said the most devastating thing imaginable. “ _I fought for_ _you, didn’t I_?”

She couldn’t believe how tenderly he’d said it and how he’d looked at her. His brown eyes had been so incredibly soft. It had hurt her terribly. Beric Dondarrion had shown up right after and she’d used him as an excuse to run away. She had tried to put up a hard, uncaring front but she was wounded and she’d run from the Hound and her guilt. She ran straight into the arms of Gendry. She’d taken what comfort she could get there and used him to forget all her troubles for at least a little while.

. . . . .

The burning of the dead was horrific. The smell was indescribable. It even lingered indoors. It permeated her clothing and hair. There was no way to escape it. The sheer scale of death and destruction was enormous. Arya wanted nothing more than to escape the burning but she had an obligation to the men, women and children that had sacrificed their lives and stood with her House.

She thought she had despised Theon after all the things he had done but it turned out she was conflicted. His death hurt her more than she thought it would. She knew he had helped Sansa escape Ramsay and she knew he had died as he tried to protect Bran. As far as she was concerned, he had done much towards redeeming himself in the end.

Surprisingly, Beric Dondarrion’s death had hurt her too. He’d given his life for her when he knew it was his last. The Hound and Beric had both saved her. At one time they’d both been on her list and yet they had both been willing to die for her. Arya tried not to think about it. She had thought she had little to no heart left after her experiences in Braavos but it turned out she had more left than she would have thought possible.

She spent her time in the shadows trying to avoid the living. It was too hard to express her feelings and she felt exposed and vulnerable. She’d hurt Gendry with her selfishness. No matter what she did, she couldn’t seem to get it right.

Apparently, she was now the Hero of Winterfell, the Bringer of Dawn and possibly the Prince that was Promised. Arya didn’t care for any of those ridiculous titles. She already knew who she was. She was simply Arya Stark of Winterfell and that was good enough for her. Arya was aware her mission was not complete. There were still two names left on her list.

Jon and the dragon queen had left for King’s Landing. She intended to get there before them. She knew an army would take longer to cover the distance than a single person on a horse. She still had time. She was ready to leave but she was waiting for something. She wasn’t really sure what she was waiting for until she was told the Hound had asked for traveling rations for the following morning. Only then did she understand what she had been waiting for.

She’d kept herself informed of his business. By all reports he was particularly morose and unfriendly. She wasn’t ready to try to talk to him again and now he was leaving. She thought she knew where he was going and what he intended to do. She told her informant to have the kitchen prepare travel rations for her.

Arya asked for her sister’s whereabouts. She was informed she was in the solar with Bran. When she told Sansa she was leaving in the morning, Sansa became very upset.

“Where are you going, Arya? We need you here! I need you here!”

Surprisingly, Bran spoke. “We have to let her go, Sansa. This is something she must do.” He then looked right through Arya. “Soon you will have a choice to make. Choose wisely.”

Sansa tried to get more information from her and then from Bran but he was back in his own world again and Arya would not say anything more.


	2. Where Did You Come From?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya decided to follow the Hound instead of traveling with him. She's pretty stubborn!

After a brief farewell to Sansa and Bran, Arya dogged the Hound's footsteps and followed behind him for nearly 1500 miles. She was surprised he’d managed to stay out of trouble. He mostly avoided inns but when he would stop at one for a meal or supplies in a village, she would wear a face and linger near him without him realizing it to lend a blade if necessary.

She noted he had a slight limp which became more pronounced the more tired he became. He still appeared strong and fit but he was alone and needed someone to watch his back. Arya did not like how alone he was. She was a wolf and knew the importance of a pack.

She continued to follow the Hound past Jon and the army. The lights of King’s Landing were on the horizon when she decided it was time to make herself known. “Hello.” She called out to give him a heads up. “It’s me, Arya Stark.”

The Hound leapt to his feet and stood alert beside his campfire. Arya stepped out of the trees just after darkness fell. She slowly walked up and stopped opposite from him with the campfire between them.

He looked her over. “Seven hells, what are you doing here, Girl?”

“I’ve brought you some dinner.” She removed the two rabbits that were slung over her shoulder.

The Hound continued to stare at her. “Where did you come from?”

Arya’s dark brow lifted. “Winterfell?”

He huffed. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Suddenly, realization dawned. “Have you been following me all this time?”

Arya shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“You have! I knew someone was out there! I could feel it. I’ve been nervous and looking over my shoulder all this time for nothing! I’ve been watching my back constantly.” He fumed.

“Well, that’s what you should have been doing, anyway.” Arya shot back unsympathetically.

“Why didn’t you just join me?” He said with exasperation. She just stared at him with her grey eyes. His mouth formed a hard line and he scowled. “Oh, right. You never were fond of my company.”

She said nothing but he watched as she blinked several times. He thought he saw some emotion in her that she was struggling to control. Perhaps, she wasn’t as cold and hard as she liked to appear.

He held out his hand. “Here, let’s have the rabbits.” He sighed.

She sat silently on the ground beside him as the rabbits roasted over the flames. She couldn’t trust herself to speak. It reminded her too much of old times.

He offered her a drink. “It’s only water. I ran out of wine awhile ago.” He grumbled.

She shook her head and stood. “Oh, I just remembered. I’ll be right back.” Arya walked into the trees and led her mare over and secured it beside the Hound’s tall destrier. She untied her bedroll and a wineskin. She returned to the fire and offered the wineskin to the Hound. He smiled up at her. Her lips twitched in response until a small smile finally broke free.

After they finished dinner, they sat quietly together for a long time passing the wineskin back and forth. The Hound was the first to break the silence. "The army made better time than I expected. Have you spoken to your brother?"

"No, I skirted their camp."

"That's probably for the best. You might not have been safe among all those men."

"A lot of them are Unsullied. They probably wouldn’t have much interest in a woman. Besides, I can take care of myself." She glanced at him as her chin came up defiantly.

He nodded. "I watched you sparring at Winterfell and fighting in the battle. Someone has taught you extremely well."

"Yes. I’ve learned lots of things." She said bitterly as she turned away. After a moment she stood and began to spread her bedding on the ground. She could feel his eyes on her and she couldn't resist jabbing him. "But I suppose a girl has to do what she has to do when she's left alone in the world."

He got to his feet and she stopped what she was doing when she felt him standing close behind her. She waited for whatever harsh response he was going to give her.

"I never left you alone on purpose."

She heard him walk away into the darkness. Arya sank down to her knees and onto her furs. Painful thoughts swirled around her. No, he hadn't done it on purpose. She's the one who did it on purpose.

The Hound watched her from a distance. He clenched his hands into fists and took some deep breaths. She left him to die alone and he'd left her alone in the world. The difference between them was that he was sorry that he hadn't been there for her and had not been able to protect her, on the other hand, she didn't care then and she didn't care now that she'd left him to die.

It was a hard truth to swallow. Although he shouldn’t have really been surprised, he didn’t want to admit that it hurt. He had never been able to get her out of his thoughts. She had haunted his dreams. He had been sure she was dead. He supposed it didn't really matter if she felt nothing for him or not; the important thing was that she was alive. His feelings really didn’t make much of a difference at this point anyway. He most likely would be dead very soon. The problem was how to make sure she didn’t die along with him.

Eventually, he returned to the fire. Arya was already wrapped in her bedding. He followed suit and laid his bedroll a few feet from her. As he got comfortable for the night, Arya had a ridiculous urge to get up and slip into his furs beside him. Not so much for the warmth but for the comfort he had always managed to give her even when he was growling or snarling at her.

He knew she had been forged and sharpened into what she was now by circumstances beyond her control. She was a force to be reckoned with. Some people were stupid enough to think she had defeated the Night King by accident or by chance. They didn’t know her. That didn’t stop him from worrying. Anyone could be killed. The Hound still wished with everything in him that she had not come here. He wished she was safe back with her people in Winterfell.

. . . . .

The Hound awoke before dawn. Arya was gone. He leapt up in a panic before he discovered her bedroll and pack tucked against a log. Her mare was missing. Damn her, he’d just have to wait until she came back. He didn’t bother with a fire. He pulled out some stale bread from his bag and sat down to eat.

Eventually, Arya returned and walked her horse through the trees and tied it near the Hound’s new horse once again. Stranger was long gone. As far as she could tell, the Hound didn’t have much of anything. She had stopped at a street vendor inside the King’s Gate and had picked up some breakfast. She sat beside the Hound and took a sausage roll out of her bag and unwrapped it. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye to see his reaction. He was staring at it like a dog waiting for a table scrap. She laughed and handed it to him.

He listened to her laugh and thought it sounded rusty as if she hadn’t laughed in a very long time. “Girl?” He tore the roll apart and offered her half.

His gesture made her regret that she had teased him. She pulled a second roll out of her bag. “It’s alright, I have my own. Now eat your breakfast; you’re going to need your strength.” He didn’t need to be told twice. The roll had disappeared and he was busy licking his fingers when Arya looked at him again.

He grunted. “Thanks.”

"I’ve scouted out the army. They’re on the move.”

His head jerked up. “What? Tell me what you saw.”

She didn’t understand why he was so alarmed. “They’ll probably reach King’s Landing in an hour or two.”

“Shit!” The Hound jumped up and started to pace around.

“What’s wrong? Surely they won’t attack today.” Arya got to her feet. “Won’t they rest first before going in tomorrow morning or something?”

“I doubt it. It’s probably going to be today.”

“Then we’ll have to get in there first.” Arya took a determined step but the Hound got in front of her and blocked her path.

He studied her face carefully. “Gregor’s mine.”

She scoffed. “I know that.” She tried to move forward again but he didn’t move.

“I must have missed you reciting them by the fire last night. How many names do you have left on your list?”

“Just the two.”

“Girl.”

She looked up into his brown eyes defiantly. “You better not try to stop me.”

“Girl, promise me you will not go near my brother.”

She considered his words. “I’ve heard he’s not . . . that he’s unnatural, that he may not even be human.” Arya found herself whispering the last part.

The Hound took a deep breath. “It’s true. I saw him when I brought the wight to Cersei for your brother.”

Her eyes scanned his face with worry. “Well, if he’s not really your brother anymore why do you still need to kill him?” She realized she was afraid for him. She didn’t want him anywhere near Gregor either.

“I thought you of all people would understand.” He answered tersely.

He was right. She did understand. She didn’t like it but she understood it.

“Will you promise me?” He persisted.

“I promise I will let you handle your brother.”

He leaned down close to her face. “I want you to give me your oath that even if I should die that you will not go near him.”

_If he should die_? That wasn’t an option. She frowned. “I don’t . . .”

“Arya.”

She focused on his eyes. He never called her by her name. “I promise.” She lied. He would never know the difference if he was dead anyway. Besides, if Gregor killed him; there was no way she would ever let Gregor live. Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Let me know!


	3. This is It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this story, Jaime Lannister was only slightly wounded by Euron Greyjoy.

By the time Arya and the Hound had reached the gate to the city, it was obvious the Hound had been correct. The army was getting into position to attack. The duo left their horses beside the gate. They knew their horses and belongings would be long gone by the time it was all over. There would be no way to safeguard them.

It was difficult to make their way through the throng of frightened people. They did part for the imposing figure of the Hound. If Arya had been on her own, she very well might not have made it to her destination.

With a loud ear-splitting shriek, the mighty Drogon flew overhead with Daenerys Targaryen clinging to his back. People really began to panic then and raced to take cover. The dragon breathed fire and the devastation of the capital began.

They managed to make it to the Red Keep shortly thereafter but it had been hit and was beginning to crumble. They strode purposely inside. They didn’t speak and they moved as one. Arya realized how right it felt to be by the Hound’s side.

The Hound looked up as debris fell from the ceiling. “Go home, Girl. Fire will get her or one of the Dothraki. Or maybe that dragon will eat her. It doesn’t matter, she’s dead. And you’ll be dead too if you if you don’t get out of here.”

Arya couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t about to let him take this away from her. She angrily brushed past him. “I’m going to kill her.”

The Hound reached out and grabbed her wrist and wrenched her back around to face him. “You think you wanted revenge a long time? I’ve been after it all my life. It’s all I care about.”

Arya scowled and jerked free from his grip and turned away to continue on her way but he caught her wrist once again and pulled her back. “Look at me.” She tried to break free again but he yanked her harder. “ _Look at me_!”

She stopped and really saw him then. She was struck by his concerned face and tender brown eyes. He put his hand around the back of her neck and held her. “You come with me, you die here.” He gave her one more meaningful look. Her eyes went wide with the seriousness of what he was saying. He released her neck and he patted her shoulder for a brief moment and then he moved past her and went to leave her behind.

Arya panicked. This was it. She wasn’t ready. He was going to his death and he was going to leave her alone again. She didn’t know how to stop him just like before. She had to say something. Arya closed her eyes but she quickly reopened them and took a deep breath before she turned towards him. “Sandor.” He was already on the staircase landing. He turned and stepped back into view and waited for her to speak. “Thank-you.” She breathed. He gave her one last look and quietly sighed. He turned away and disappeared.

Arya stood looking where she had last seen him. This couldn’t be happening. He had wanted her to be safe. In spite of everything, he still cared for her. She realized it was even more that; he wanted to protect her from herself. He wanted to turn her from the path she was on and save her soul. Sandor was no dog. He was a man; a faithful and true man. How could it have taken her so long to admit to herself how much he meant to her? She couldn’t see for a moment as her tears blinded her.

She heard a noise and when her vision cleared, there was Cersei walking down the last few steps as calm as you please. She was by herself. As she reached the floor, she looked up and suddenly caught sight of Arya.

Arya drew Needle and immediately advanced towards her in a rage. How dare these dregs of humanity take one more thing from her? Didn’t they already take enough?

“What do you want? Who . . . who are you?” Cersei held her hands out in front of her in a defensive posture.

Arya took her water dancing stance and stood sideways to the yellow-haired bitch. Her eyes turned deadly cold and dark. Her voice rang out. “I’m Arya Stark, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark of Winterfell. The North remembers.”

Cersei’s eyes widened in recognition and the color drained from her face.“You!” Cersei spat. “How is it possible you’re still alive?”

Arya was distracted by the sounds of cursing and of swords clashing from the staircase up above. Suddenly, she heard a shuffling step off to her right. She pivoted and saw Jaime Lannister with his sword drawn.

“Stand back, Kingslayer!” Arya commanded.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.” He said rather conversationally.

“I don’t want to kill you but I will.” She could see he was bloodied and already wounded. He advanced on her anyway. They took a few tentative thrusts at each other as steel met steel.

“I don’t want to kill you either but you can’t have my sister.”

They parried a couple more times. She had been preoccupied enough that Cersei had slipped away and was now cowering behind her brother. Arya was further distracted by the ominous lessoning of the sounds of fighting coming from up above. Arya held Needle still. The Kingslayer stayed his hand as well.

Arya looked over his shoulder at Cersei cringing in the background. She shouted at her. “I’ve wanted nothing more than to kill you for most of my life! It’s the only thing that has kept me alive until now!”

The sounds of swords clashing from the staircase had completely ceased. “But now I find I have something more important to live for.” Arya made her choice. She turned and ran headlong up the stairs.

Sandor was pinned against the wall and screamed in fear and pain as his monster of a brother attempted to gouge his eyes out. He had tried but he had lost. Sandor had impaled him with his long sword. He’d stabbed him through the head but it had made no difference. He wasn’t a flesh and blood man any longer. Gregor was truly a monster in every sense of the word now.

Suddenly, his brother released him and Sandor fell to his knees. He was beaten black and blue and senseless. He could barely see. Some of his bones were surely broken. He was so weak he couldn’t get up. He couldn’t understand why Gregor had let him go. Why hadn’t he finished him?

“Die, you cunt. Die!” Arya yelled as she took on the Mountain.

Sandor heard her voice. It penetrated the fog in his brain. No! The girl had not listened. She was here! Gregor was going to kill her. He had to get up. Of all the terrible moments in his life, of all his worst fears . . . this was his ultimate nightmare.

As the Mountain was gouging Sandor’s eyes, Arya had managed to leap up onto his back and slash his throat with Littlefinger’s Valyrian steel dagger. It was the same dagger that she’d used to kill the Night King. She jumped down and backed quickly away. Gregor turned and instead of a fountain of blood there was only a slight oozing of black sludge coming from the wound. It wasn’t enough. He kept coming.

She backed down a couple of steps. Gregor was slow and stumbling and she was still quick and sure but if she tripped on the stairs or on any of the debris she would be finished. If he got his hands on her, she would be crushed.

The Red Keep shook again and some plaster from the ceiling struck Arya. Before she could recover, Gregor wrenched the dagger from her hand and flung it away. She unsheathed Needle but feared it wasn’t strong enough to kill him. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and Arya could see the other oozing stab wounds Sandor must have inflicted. There were wounds to his neck and head that should have been fatal but he was still standing.

Arya realized his hands were unprotected. She used Needle to slash at him and watched as his fingers were severed on one of his hands. He grunted and was distracted long enough for Arya to lunge and stab him through the eye. She went for his other eye but he got hold of Needle and pulled it from her grasp.

Sandor rubbed his eyes. He could still see out of one of them. He could see his brother advancing on Arya. He looked frantically around for something he could use as a weapon but couldn’t find anything in all the debris on the stairs. He yelled at Gregor but was ignored. Sandor braced his back against the wall and by sheer willpower he forced himself up to his feet.

“Leave her be! This is between you and me!” He screamed. “Arya, get out of here!” He stumbled towards his brother screaming to try to get his attention all the while. Gregor ignored him and continued to advance on Arya. Arya misstepped and before she could recover he lunged at her and backhanded her into the wall. She had been able to lean back far enough that she did not take the full force of the blow but she still crumpled into a heap on the steps and did not get up. Her only option was to play dead.

Sandor stared at the lifeless girl. Gregor had killed her. Sandor let out a guttural yell and charged his brother. They crashed down together and Sandor screamed and pummeled him as hard as he could but it made no difference. Gregor easily flung him off and pinned him down by the throat with his uninjured hand.

When Arya finally pushed herself up and shook her head to clear it, Gregor was bent down over Sandor and was squeezing the life out of him. A rush of adrenaline flowed through Arya’s veins. She leapt up and rushed him with a small knife which was her very last weapon. He deflected her charge with ease and batted her away with his forearm. She hit the wall but landed on her feet below him on the steps like a cat. She was momentarily stunned.

Suddenly, she became aware that Jaime Lannister was beside her. He pulled out his long sword and charged at Gregor and swung his sword with all of his might and took Gregor’s head clean off his shoulders. The momentum of the swing caused him to topple forward across Gregor’s back with his sword clattering harmlessly out of the way.

Arya tried to catch her breath as Jaime quickly recovered himself and turned to her. Blood was pouring from a cut on her head and she was scraped and bruised. “Lady Arya, are you alright?”

“Sandor.” She croaked.

Jaime turned back to the man lying on the steps. He realized it was the Hound. He shoved Gregor’s body away and knelt down beside Clegane.

Arya managed to get to Sandor and she took one look at his battered face and closed her eyes as tears began to fall unheeded down her cheeks. “Sandor.” She leaned down into his face. “Sandor, please, please wake up.”

Jaime checked Sandor’s neck for a pulse. “He’s still alive.”

Arya put her lips to his ear, “Sandor, please, you must wake up now.” More and more debris was falling from above and the building shook.

Jaime took her arm. “Lady Arya.”

“Sandor.” She ran her fingers over his face and touched him gently. Sandor stirred. He could hear the Little Wolf call him from very far off in the distance.

“Sandor, wake up. I need you.”

He hurt so badly that he’d rather just lay there and die but she needed him. He wouldn’t leave her alone again. He reached up and grasped her hand and opened his eyes. It was difficult to focus but he could see that she was alive and she smiled at him through her tears. He was utterly relieved.

Massive chunks of the building began to rain down. “Lady Arya! We have to leave now!” Jaime exclaimed as he leapt up.

She was busy trying to coax Sandor up onto his feet and ignored him. Jaime picked up his long sword and sheathed it. He saw Arya’s Valyrian steel dagger and picked it up too. “If he can’t get up we’ll have to leave him or be killed.”

Arya stood up angrily and stared Jaime down. “If you don’t help me with Sandor, then I _will_ die here along with him.” She said with finality.

Sandor wasn’t totally coherent and missed what she said. Jaime Lannister heard her loud and clear and knew that she meant it. He made a face and knelt back down beside Sandor and tried to rouse him enough to get him up.

Sandor heard him but he couldn’t follow directions very well. He had taken some terrific blows to the head and it was catching up to him. He was rather punch drunk. Arya and Jaime managed to get him up between them and started down the stairs.

“Wait!” Arya looked at Jaime. “Hold him.” She left them as she spotted Needle and went to get it. She sheathed Needle and then took her place alongside Sandor again. “Let’s go!”

They made it to the bottom of the stairs and started across the map room when something caught Arya’s eye among the fallen debris. Cersei was lying lifeless in a large pool of blood. Her throat had been slit. Arya glanced quickly at Jaime. His eyes remained resolutely ahead. He refused to acknowledge Arya’s questioning stare. They made it outside to find utter destruction and the dragon queen was not finished yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments are always appreciated!


	4. Mercy

They sought shelter as best as they could. Fortunately, the attack did not last much longer. By the time Daenerys Targaryen had ended her madness, Sandor was no longer conscious. When they finally emerged from the rubble, they came across some Northern soldiers. They recognized Arya and helped to get Sandor to a triage area.

Because of Arya’s status as the Hero of Winterfell, Sandor was hastily brought into the maester’s tent as fast as possible. Sandor’s filthy clothes which were covered with the blood, ash and the stinking rotten sludge from Gregor were quickly removed. Arya clung desperately to his hand in fear that he had slipped into a permanent sleep but as the cold water used to clean his wounds touched his skin he came around a little.

“Girl.” He moaned weakly.

He had a slash from a sword across his arm that needed attending. Some of his ribs were broken and needed to be wrapped. He had a broken wrist and a couple of broken fingers. His shoulder was dislocated. He had a twisted and swollen knee. He had ugly bruises on his neck where Gregor had tried to throttle him. He was actually a mass of dark purple bruises from head to foot. His face was swollen so badly he was unrecognizable. One of his eyes was swollen shut but the maester determined his eyeball was still intact.

The maester said he might have internal injuries based on the beating he had taken. He tried to awaken him enough so he could assess his head trauma. The maester tried to ask Sandor questions to determine his mental state but he ignored him and called for Arya instead.

“Girl, don’t leave me!” He clung to Arya’s arm as he lay splayed out on the makeshift examining table. 

“I’m here, Sandor. I’m here.”

“Don’t go, Girl! Don’t go! Don’t leave me.” His face became wet. Arya was beside herself.

She got right down into his face. “Sandor, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Arya?” He tried to look into her eyes. “Don’t let me suffer. If . . . if there’s no hope . . . I need you to . . .”

“I’m strong enough now to give you mercy if necessary but until then I swear on my honor as a Stark that I won’t leave you.” She said as she kissed him on his forehead.

“Girl.” He sighed in relief as he finally realized she was clutching him tightly and wasn’t about to let him go. He fell back into unconsciousness.

Arya looked back up at the maester as he told her he had done everything he could for now. He gave her milk of the poppy to give to Sandor in small doses when or if he should wake up. He warned her that if he had internal injuries that they may not be survivable. Arya began to cry and caught Jaime staring at her.

Jaime watched as Arya clung to the Hound’s hand and kissed him right on his scars. She had been unwilling to leave the Red Keep without him even if it meant her own death. She’d even braved taking on the Mountain for Clegane’s sake. She’d forgone the pleasure of killing Cersei to go to his rescue.

My Gods, he thought, she had slain the Night King. She was utterly fearless. What must it take to have a woman such as her to be willing to die for you? He already knew all about how difficult it was to give the gift of mercy. He’d just given it to his sister.

He glanced at Clegane. He’d known him for many years. He knew he was a capable fighter and very shrewd. He knew he was loyal but still, there must be more to him than he had realized. Jaime determined that he wanted to help this woman in whatever way he could.

“She’s been injured too.” He told the maester.

“No, I’m fine. We need to find a safe place to take Sandor where he can rest.”

The maester attempted to get Arya to lie on a second table. She fought him off. “No, I need to find a place for Sandor. I’m fine.” She said stubbornly.

Jaime spoke up. “If you let the maester take care of you, I’ll go and find a place for Clegane.” He bargained. “Are we agreed?”

Arya looked at him speculatively and then nodded. Jaime left the tent. He walked back in about ten minutes later. He grinned broadly as he caught sight of Arya’s naked tits over the maester’s shoulder.

“Hey!” She yelped as she threw her arm over her breasts. He came closer to tease her but when he looked down his smile disappeared. Not only did he see lots of ugly bruises, he saw her severely scarred abdomen. She had been brutally stabbed at some point in the past.

Jaime was shocked. His eyes flew to hers. “I beg your pardon, Lady Arya.” He said as he turned away out of respect.

He had been able to find her a narrow row house in the next block and some men to transport Clegane. He wanted to have her carried as well but she laughed at the idea. He made sure she and Clegane were situated before he left. He promised to return later. One of the Northmen had been posted to guard her door.

Arya had been operating on pure adrenaline and as soon as she had secured the door behind Jaime, her legs buckled and she nearly fell. She shakily made her way to the bed and crawled in alongside Sandor. She turned towards him and put her hand gently on his arm and immediately fell into an exhausted sleep.

Sandor awoke a couple of hours later moaning in pain. Arya was able to help him sit up enough to give him a drink of water and a dose of milk of the poppy. He hadn’t opened his eyes and she was pretty sure he was not aware of who she was. As the drug took hold, he’d settled back down and had fallen back asleep. Fear bloomed in Arya’s gut. He could die. Arya did something she hadn’t done in years. She knelt down beside the bed and she prayed.

She was awakened later by a knock on the door. She sat up and was disoriented by her surroundings. She immediately checked on Sandor’s breathing and touched his forehead to check for fever. He seemed well enough.

The knock sounded again. “Arya, it’s me, Jon.”

Arya got up and answered the door. Jon hugged her tightly but pulled back when he heard her grunt with pain. “Arya, you’re hurt.” He took in her bruised and scraped up face and disheveled appearance. Not only was she covered in white ash like everyone else, she was smeared with a black tar-like substance that smelled like death.

“I’m fine. It’s nothing serious. It’s only bruising and a little cut on my head.” She looked Jon over. He seemed unharmed. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. I didn’t have to fight. Much. Jaime Lannister sent word to me that you were here.” Jon looked over her shoulder and noticed she wasn’t alone.

There was a very large man asleep in the bed. He was naked at least from the waist up. His ribs were wrapped and he was absolutely covered in dark purple bruises. The skin around his eyes was red. His face and throat were swollen and mottled. He stepped closer as something about the man caught his eye. He had burn scars partly covering his face. That combined with the man’s sheer size made him realize who the man was.

Jon turned to look at Arya. “What are you doing with the Hound?”

Arya stepped around Jon and sat on the edge of the bed. “It’s a long story. He’s been hurt.” Arya turned and gently touched Sandor’s cheek. When she turned back to Jon her lip was trembling.

Jon was stunned. He found a chair and pulled it forward and placed it in front of Arya and took her hand in his. This was practically the only emotion he’d seen from his warrior sister since they’d been reunited in Winterfell.

“What are you doing here?”

Arya looked away. “I had a little business to attend to.”

“Business? What are you talking about?” Jon asked incredulously.

Arya shrugged her shoulders. Jon could tell she didn’t want to tell him. He decided to not to push her for now. He nodded towards the Hound. “I didn’t know you knew each other. I suppose you must have gotten to know him after I left Winterfell to come to this gods-forsaken place.” Then another thought struck him. “Did you two travel together to get here?”

Arya shook her head. “I didn’t travel with him. I followed him. I’ve known him a very long time.”

Jon’s eyebrows came together as he frowned. “How long?”

Arya sighed. “Years.”

Jon glanced at the Hound again. “But he never once mentioned knowing you when he went beyond the Wall with me or afterwards.”

Arya looked down at her hands. “We didn’t part well.” She looked back up at Jon as a couple of tears streaked down and left tracks in the dirt on her face.

Jon looked back and forth between the Hound and his sister. “He didn’t do . . . he didn’t . . .”

Arya shook her head. “No, Jon. He only ever tried to help me and get me back to my family. It was me that . . .” More tears fell from her eyes. “I was a stupid, ungrateful child. I basically spat in his face.”

Jon ruffled her hair. “Well, I know from personal experience that he sure can be bad-tempered and hard to get along with.” Jon smiled.

Arya smiled back. “You have no idea.” Her face became serious again. “But he’s loyal and has a rather large heart hidden underneath his rough manners.”

“That sounds like someone else I know.”

Arya’s face crumpled. “Oh, Jon.”

He leaned forward and held her in his arms.

“You would think that but it’s not true. Not any longer. My heart turned black a long time ago.”

Jon smoothed her hair. “Are you sure about that? We’ve all had to do some pretty hard things to survive.”

Arya pulled back and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Sandor and I came here to kill the Mountain. I wanted to kill Cersei’s too. I wanted to kill her for everything she’s done to our family. I did try to kill her but in the end I had a bigger priority.” She glanced over her shoulder at Sandor.

“Cersei is dead but we didn’t kill her. I’ve seen her body. Sandor and I tried to kill the Mountain but if it wasn’t for Jaime Lannister, he would have killed us instead. Jaime’s the one that finally took his head off. I hate to say this but I am indebted to him.”

Jon shook his head. “Arya.” He sighed. “Here I thought you were safe at home.”

“I don’t think anyone’s safe. Your queen destroyed the city even though the bells tolled their surrender.”

“She’s everyone’s queen now.”

“Try telling Sansa.”

“You need to keep your head down, Arya, and then leave the city as soon as possible.”

Arya grabbed Jon’s arm and looked him in the eye. “Jon, she knows who you are; who you really are. You’ll always be a threat to her.” She leaned in closer. “And I know a killer when I see one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments are always always appreciated!


	5. Is He Dead?

Arya spoke to the soldier the Northern army had stationed beside her door. His name was Bryce Yohan. He belonged to House Arryn. He brought her some water and she gave him some bread and fruit she found in the house. She cleaned off Sandor’s face and hands the best she could. She scrounged around the little house until she found some more to eat.

Sandor woke up to make water. He let her help him but he wasn’t really aware of what was going on. The milk of the poppy had him in a stupor. She got him to drink some more water and settle back down. She brushed his hair off his face with her hand as she thought of some of the crazy things they’d done together.

After the sun went down, she lit a candle and sat in a chair beside the bed. Sandor was restless and uncomfortable. He would groan now and again in his sleep but his breathing sounded good. Her own injuries were beginning to ache. She couldn’t keep her eyes open and was about to lie back down beside Sandor when there was a sharp knock on the door.

She heard Jaime’s voice call out. She got up to let him in wearily. She was surprised that his beautiful blond hair had been shaved off. His fancy armor was gone. It was replaced by some very plain armor and old clothing. He pushed past her and swept into the room. “Lady Arya. I have some bad tidings. Jon Snow has been taken prisoner by the Unsullied. He has killed the Targaryen queen.”

Arya was taken aback by the news. She was glad it had been Jon that had killed her and not the other way around but this was a disaster. “What happened?”

“No one is really sure. Drogon flew off with her body. Grey Worm and the Unsullied are . . . _extremely_ angry.”

It put Jon in a very precarious position. They might even decide to execute her brother. She had wanted him to protect himself from her but she didn’t want him to do something so rash as to kill her himself. An unsanctioned killing of a queen, even a self-proclaimed queen, could have dire consequences.

“I must go to him.” She took a step toward the door and then stopped and looked from Sandor to Jaime.

Jaime subtly maneuvered himself in front of the door. “They aren’t letting anyone see him, although, I didn’t try. They arrested Tyrion for treason as well. He let me escape after I had been captured when I first got here. He also spoke out against his queen for destroying the city even after they surrendered. I thought it best not to show my face. I shaved my head and have replaced my finery. My so-called golden mane is a little too recognizable. The Lannister’s aren’t very popular right now.”

“If you could stay with Sandor, I could at least try to see Jon.”

“The Starks aren’t very popular with the Unsullied right now, either. I’m afraid they might try to arrest you too.”

“They will not know who I am.”

Jaime stared at her unbelievingly.

“I’ve learned to disguise myself. I uh, spent some time with mummers.”

He looked at her and shook his head. “Lady Arya, it’s too big of a risk. Besides, if I heard you right, you pledged your oath to Clegane that you would not leave him.”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. She looked over at Sandor and wrung her hands. She tried again. “He’s asleep. He won’t know the difference.”

“That’s true. But you’ll know what you did. Besides, if you get caught and don’t come back, he’ll know it too.”

“Don’t try to manipulate me!”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I’m trying to save your life and help you to keep your word and your honor.”

Arya frowned at the Kingslayer. She wanted to curse him but she couldn’t. She paced back and forth in the small room. Finally, she sat on the edge of the bed. “What about Ser Davos and the army of the North? Are they going to help Jon?”

Jaime sat down in the chair opposite Arya. “They’ve moved outside the city. They aren’t all that welcome now.” He studied her face in the glow of the single candle. Dark shadows flickered across her features. She reminded him of something unearthly.

“Do you think they will kill him?” She tried to sound strong but it didn’t come out that way.

Jaime didn’t want to give her false hope yet he didn’t want her to be killed. “I think they are in a foreign land and are not used to making decisions for themselves. I think they will wait. In the meantime, I’m sure Ser Davos will not abandon Jon. He’ll try to convince Grey Worm to hold off until some kind of order has been restored.”

Arya rubbed her forehead and then she sighed. “I suppose they could have killed him immediately but they didn’t so that may be a good sign. Although, they may just be waiting for daybreak.”

“How about we send your guard with a message for Ser Davos? Perhaps he may be able to reassure you.” Arya nodded and so that’s what they did. Jaime insisted on taking watch outside her door. He wasn’t being completely selfless. He wanted to make sure she didn’t go anywhere.

Arya decided she better get some sleep while she could. She may have to act soon. She removed some of her outer layers of clothing and got into the bed beside Sandor and fell immediately into a troubled sleep.

. . . . .

Jaime woke her during the night with a message from Ser Davos. Jon would be spared until a special council was called. Arya could see the relief on Jaime’s face as he read that Tyrion was temporarily safe as well. She offered Jaime some cheap wine she’d found in the house and they toasted as if it was the world’s most rare and expensive vintage.

Sandor awoke in the early morning hours. He was in tremendous pain and disoriented. He was still very much in a drugged state. He was in more pain than he’d ever been in before. No, he thought, that wasn’t quite right. He remembered feeling worse when he was alone in the Vale; abandoned and afraid.

He realized he wasn’t alone now. He was flat on his back in a bed and someone’s arm was draped across his chest with their hand resting on his shoulder. He could feel the warmth of their body pressed against his side. He was holding them to him with his arm and his hand was spread across their hip.

That’s odd, he thought. The women at Littlefinger’s establishment did their job quickly. They didn’t actually sleep beside you. The only person who had ever voluntarily slept beside him was the Little Wolf. He opened his eyes and looked down. It _was_ the Little Wolf. He realized he couldn’t see out of one of his eyes but it was her. The early light of dawn illuminated her face. She was plainly visible on his chest where she was tucked under his arm.

His mind was muddled and he forgot the passage of time. He still thought she was the child she had been. She was asleep but she looked different, he mused. She didn’t seem so little anymore. Her face was older, more mature. She must have grown but it was her alright. He’d know her anywhere. He forgot his pain as sudden relief flooded through him. She was alive. She was alive and she’d come back to him. Nothing else really mattered. It was all he ever could have hoped for.

Sandor took hold of her hand on his shoulder and moved it down until it was placed over his heart. He held it there with his own hand until he slipped back into dreamland. He had awakened Arya but she had kept her eyes closed and held still. She could feel Sandor’s strong heartbeat under her hand and the warmth of his hand on top of her own.

She’d heard his contented sigh. She felt a strange tightness in her chest near her own heart. She wasn’t sure what was wrong with her. Maybe the maester had misdiagnosed her and the tightness in her chest meant her ribs were cracked. She could lie to herself all she wished but she knew it didn’t explain why her eyelashes were wet and she had an overwhelming desire to squeeze Sandor as hard as she could.

. . . . .

It was mid-morning and Arya had just finished baking some bread. When her guard had returned he brought her a bundle of food along with a second guard from House Stark, Amos Haus. They were to take turns watching over her and taking care of her needs. She opened the door and gave Haus some of the freshly baked bread. She’d already fed him and herself breakfast earlier. After that, she’d put together a vegetable broth for Sandor that was warming in the stew pot. They were all lucky that she’d learned to cook from Umma at the House of Black and White.

Sandor was stirring. Arya wiped off her hands and poured him a drink of water. He tried to get up and she quickly went to him and put her hands on his shoulders. “Take it easy. Don’t try to stand.”

He looked at her with murder in his eye. “I have to piss and I’m not about to piss the bed.” He swung his legs onto the floor and sat up. He groaned in pain.

Arya pulled out the chamber pot and went to help him. “Are you mad, Girl?” He bellowed. He gave her a look of horror. She stepped back and gave him some privacy. He lay back on the bed, dizzy and exhausted from the effort.

She brought him the cup of water that she had poured and helped sit him up enough to drink it. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“What do you think?” He barked. “I can’t see worth a damn.” He held up his hand close to his eye and examined the splints on his broken fingers. He looked at his splinted wrist as well. He felt along his ribs and then his face. “Did I lose my eye?” He asked much more quietly.

“No.”

He sighed. “Come closer.” He reached out and grasped her collar and pulled her up to his face so he could see her better. He looked over her bruised face. “How are you, Girl?”

She untangled his fingers from her shirt. She smiled. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are.” He grunted. “You lied to me. You told me you’d keep away from Gregor.”

She looked away. “Yes, I did.” Then she leaned forward until she was nose to nose with him. “I’m not sorry.”

His expression softened just a bit. “Is he dead?”

“Yes, he’s dead.”

Sandor closed his eyes and expelled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Arya brought him the vegetable broth in a cup so he could drink it. At first he refused the milk of the poppy that she’d offered him but after about half an hour of him shifting uncomfortably she offered it to him again and he took it. It wasn’t long until he was fast asleep once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	6. She's A Woman

Arya and Jaime had just finished their noonday meal. Jaime had brought her a chicken. His simple gesture had pleased her immensely. She was able to make Sandor some chicken broth. They were sitting at the table talking when the sound of their voices must have woken Sandor.

“What are you doing here?’ He asked Jaime.

Arya and Jaime looked at each other. Arya got up and poured Sandor a drink and took it over to him. “How much do you remember about yesterday?” She asked.

He struggled to sit up and then he drank the water thirstily. He tried to look at each of them but he couldn’t see them properly. Finally, he closed his eyes. He sighed. “Well, I was fighting with Gregor and somehow you were there.” He motioned towards Arya. “You were on the ground and I thought . . .” He stopped.

She laid her hand on his. He didn’t pull it away. “I don’t remember anything else.” He said quickly. Arya suspected that he did but she didn’t want to push him.

Jaime stood up and walked over to the bed. “Well, I’m glad you’re doing better, Clegane. You’re lucky to be alive. I don’t know what the two of you were thinking.” He gave a brief laugh. “Arya, if you don’t mind, I’ll be back for dinner.” He laughed louder this time. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring food.” He waved as he left.

Sandor made a face. “He’s awfully familiar.”

“What?”

“He didn’t address you properly by your title.”

“He didn’t?”

He rubbed his thumb absently over her hand. “No. He just called you by your name. I didn’t realize you two were such great friends.”

“He’s not so bad.” She pulled her hand away. “Besides, we owe him. He killed Gregor.”

Sandor was quiet for a minute. “Really?’ He frowned. “I don’t remember that.”

“Well, yes. What are friends for but to help you kill your enemies?” She tried to lighten the mood. “Let me get you your lunch now.”

He grasped her arm. “I remember you made me some promises in the maester’s tent.”

She stood up. Of course he would remember that. She had let him see too much of her feelings. She had been overwrought and foolish. She quickly went over to the fire and ladled some chicken broth into a cup.

“Arya.” He looked over in her direction. “You never said what happened to Cersei."

“She’s dead too.”

He took a deep breath. “Then it’s over. You can go home now.” He turned his head away.

Why was he giving her a way out? Did he think that was what she wanted? She sliced off a thin sliver of bread and brought it and the broth to him. She stood by the bed looking down at him. “Oh no, you don’t, Sandor Clegane, you can’t get away from me now. I’ve got you right where I want you; flat on your back and helpless.” She bent down close to his face and showed him all of her teeth and her evil little smile.

“Uh, Girl?”

“Yes?”

“You’re frightening me.”

Arya laughed. “Good!”

. . . . .

For the first few days, Sandor’s pain was pretty bad even with the poppy milk. Arya wouldn’t give him as much as he would have liked. She said it wasn’t good to take too much. He wondered if that was really true or she really did get a little pleasure out of having him at her mercy. At any rate, he wasn’t in a terrible mood. He supposed he was just happy to be alive.

By the third day, however, he had tried for the second time to stand and he wasn’t able to put any weight on his leg. He had twisted his knee during the fight and it was still swollen and tender. He had snapped at Arya and she had yelled right back at him.

He was lying flat on his back that afternoon when his mood became more somber. The seriousness of his condition was finally registering with him. Not only was he crippled once again, he was virtually blind. How was he going to be able to get around and look after himself?

Even if those two things improved, he had broken his right wrist. If his wrist didn’t heal the right way, he wouldn’t be able to wield a sword effectively. He wouldn’t be able to defend himself or fight. To top it all off, he still had to worry about his fingers too. If they didn’t heal properly, he wouldn’t be able to grip a sword.

He wouldn’t be able to use a bow to hunt. Hells, he wouldn’t even be able to tie up his horse. He didn’t know why he was worried about that. He didn’t even have a horse any longer. If he was crippled and blind was he to become a beggar? It wasn’t like he was Jaime Fucking Lannister and had enough money for a sell sword and servants to take care of him since he’d lost his hand. Sandor’s mood sank lower and lower. When Arya tried to speak to him he just ignored her. He didn’t feel like talking. She soon took the hint and left him alone.

Sometime during the night, Sandor had a nightmare. He and Arya were out in a dense forest. The wind was whistling eerily through the trees. There was a thick, moist mist obscuring his view. It was icy cold. He turned to speak to Arya and she wasn’t there. He couldn’t see and he was lost. He called for her and she didn’t answer him. He stumbled around blindly until he worked himself into a panic.

He awoke with a start. Arya was lying beside him and she was holding his face between her hands. “It was only a dream.” She murmured.

He stared at her as he tried to get his breathing under control. He swallowed hard. He was afraid to speak. Arya let go of him and started to get up. He gripped her arms tightly. “Where are you going?”

Her voice was full of concern. “I’m just going to get you a drink.”

He nodded and forced himself to let her go. She came back with some water and a wet cloth that she used as a cool compress for his forehead. His breathing slowed and after a time he was able to relax. Arya crawled back into bed beside him.

For some reason, it had not occurred to him that she had been sleeping with him. He had been falling asleep before her and waking up after she was already up. He was surprised she would do such a thing. Surely, she knew it was inappropriate. Sometimes they had slept beside each other out in the wild in the freezing cold to conserve body heat and keep warm. It had been a necessity. As long as no one else knew about it he figured it was alright but they weren’t out in the wild now.

Those two guards had been in the house. Since there was only one bed they might suspect Arya was sharing it with him. The Gods only knew that no one liked to gossip more than soldiers. They gossiped more than women. Jaime probably knew about the bed too but he likely wouldn’t tell anyone. For some odd reason, Jaime and Arya seemed to have become really good friends. He didn’t like that either.

He had better say something to her about their sleeping arrangements tomorrow. After all, she was a highborn girl and the daughter of a great House. It couldn't do her reputation any good if it was known she had slept beside a dog. Another bed could surely be found. They were in King’s Landing and a bed was sure to found somewhere. Arya was lying on her side facing him. He reached out and put his arm around her and pulled her closer. She was warm and he suddenly felt cold.

The next morning, Sandor was awakened by the sounds of splashing water. He turned his head towards the sound. Arya was sitting in a tub taking a bath. She was turned sideways to him but he could see she was naked and she had . . . breasts. He inhaled sharply and quickly looked away. He knew she wasn’t a child any longer but somehow he hadn’t realized she was a _woman_.

He turned back and looked at her again. She was washing her hair and her arms were lifted upwards and he could see her body better now. Her breasts were nice and full and firm. How could he have not noticed them before? She did wear many layers of clothing but still, they were pretty significant breasts. Perhaps she kept them bound for when she fought? She had some ugly bruises but the skin that was not marred was silky smooth like porcelain. The tips of her breasts were very dark in comparison. Sandor was shocked when he realized she was beautiful.

He turned his head away again. What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be looking at her like that. He shouldn’t be thinking these . . . thoughts. He definitely shouldn’t be feeling a tightening in his groin.

Then he had another thought. She had lain with her friend, that smith. When he had first figured it out from the way Gendry had been acting, he couldn’t believe it. What had ever possessed her to be so stupid? The idea of her sleeping with him had been almost like an abstract thought. He hadn't pictured the reality of it. He hadn't pictured the smith’s dirty hands on those perfect breasts. He hadn't pictured the smith kissing her mouth. He was picturing it now. He didn't like how it made him feel.

If he ever saw the little _Lord_ Gendry Baratheon again, he would tear his head off. He was unconsciously clenching his fists but stopped when he poked himself with the splints on his fingers and felt the pain in his wrist. Yeah, right. He wasn’t going to beat anyone up for a long time, if ever. He could barely sit up by himself.

He squeezed his eyes closed. He thought about the way she looked again. He finally realized with a jolt that he had been able to see her. He could see! One eye was still swollen shut but he had regained his sight in the other one. He was suddenly thankful that he wasn’t completely blind and had been able to witness how lovely Arya had become.

He turned to look at her again and she was looking right back at him.

“Hey, what are you doing!” She yelled as she put her hands over her nakedness.

He quickly turned away. “Nothing.” He said with embarrassment. He heard her splash as she got out of the tub.

“Why is everyone trying to see my bosom?”

“Who’s been trying to see your bosom?”

“Jaime. He came in while the maester was examining me. He seemed rather pleased with himself.”

Sandor frowned. Fuck Jaime Fucking Lannister, he thought.

She hastily dried herself off but since she wasn’t completely dry she struggled to get dressed. She finally sat down beside him on the bed. “I didn’t mean to yell. I forgot you can’t see.”

He took in her concerned face. “I can see better than I could yesterday.”

She perked up. “Really? How well can you see?”

“I can see you just fine out of this eye.” He pointed to his less injured eye.

She smiled and then she had to catch herself before she did something stupid. She had to think fast and use her training to rule her face. “You can really see?” She had her face under control but her voice was still a little shaky.

“Yes, really. But don’t apply for sainthood just yet.”

“What do you mean?” She looked confused.

“You know, Saint Arya, Patron Saint of Healing, with breasts so glorious she can make a blind man see.” His lips twitched as he tried to hold back his smile.

She stared at him. “Sandor!” She started to shake with laughter until she was laughing so hard she was in tears.

Sandor started to laugh with her but then he put his hand to his chest. “Stop making me laugh, Girl, it’s hurting my ribs.” For a moment, she made him glad he was still alive in spite of what the future might have in store for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	7. What's Wrong?

Jaime was having lunch with Arya and Sandor again. Arya’s two guards had taken a house nearby and were taking care of their own meals. She didn’t mind feeding Jaime. After all, he was providing their food. She didn’t really get to know him all that well at Winterfell but Brienne had vouched for him so Arya decided he couldn’t be all that bad. Brienne had very high standards.

Sandor was brooding again on the bed and refused to take part in their conversation. She was worried about him but she knew she wouldn’t be too cheerful either if she was injured like he was. So far, he hadn’t roared at her yet. She supposed she should be thankful for that.

Arya and Jaime were careful to not bring up topics which might upset the other. He mentioned Arya’s fighting ability and she brought up his renowned fighting record.

“I saw you spar at Winterfell. You’re one of the best fighters I’ve ever seen.”

Arya brushed off his praise. “My, you do have a silver tongue, don’t you?” She laughed.

“No, it’s a golden tongue.” He said with mock seriousness and then he stuck it out for her to examine.

“Oh, excuse me. I stand corrected.” Arya smiled. “Hey, would you like to spar sometime?”

“Sure. Although, I’m afraid I would disappoint you. I am not nearly as good with my left hand.”

“Then it would make sense for you to practice more.”

“Where did you learn to fight? I must say, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

Arya shrugged, “I picked up some lessons here and there.”

Jaime laughed in disbelief. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I don’t suppose you’d tell me where you were all that time when you were missing either.”

“Oh, I wasn’t missing.” Arya got up and poured herself some wine. She looked at Jaime through narrowed eyes. “I knew exactly where I was the whole time.”

Jaime laughed and left soon after.

Sandor spoke up. “It’s funny you two are such good friends. Does he know you killed his sister?”

Arya glanced over at him. “I didn’t kill Cersei.”

He frowned. “I thought you said . . .”

“No, I said she was dead. I didn’t say I had killed her.”

“How’d she die, then?”

“Let’s just say she received more mercy than she was due.” Arya said cryptically.

Sandor stared at her a little longer and then pushed his pillow down and reclined on the bed so he could take a nap.

“Aren’t you going to ask me where I was?” Arya challenged.

Sandor’s eyes quickly flew to hers, then away again. No, he definitely wasn’t ready to ask her that. He wasn’t sure he would ever be ready to know the answer. There was a long silence. Her face looked dangerous and hard. Finally, he said very quietly, “If you want to tell me, I’m here.”

Her face looked like a thundercloud about to let loose but she turned and slipped outside the door. Sandor lay there a long time. He couldn’t sleep. He knew she blamed him. He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know how to make her feel better. He had no choice but to lay there and think about how much of a failure he was as a man.

. . . . .

Arya didn’t speak two words the rest of the day. When Jaime came around for dinner, he picked up on her anger immediately and kept his mouth closed for once. He was smart enough to know she wasn’t in the mood for his charming self. He looked over at Clegane. He was resolutely staring at the wall. He wondered if they’d had a fight. Jaime ate quickly and thanked Arya for her hospitality and left as soon as politely possible.

Sandor closed his eyes and waited for her to come to bed. Eventually, Arya blew out the candles and he could hear her as she took off some of her clothing. She got into the bed beside him and after a minute or two she lifted his arm and scooted up alongside him. She lowered his arm over her and positioned his hand on her hip. Sandor forgot he was pretending to be asleep and pulled her in closer and held her tighter.

Arya was startled. She’d assumed he was asleep. He didn’t say or do anything but she could feel him breathing beside her. Eventually, she relaxed and drifted off. Sandor had meant to bring up getting a second bed but somehow the timing hadn’t been right. Now, he didn’t want to. The way she had curled up into him did something to him he didn’t want to think about. All he knew was that he was a selfish bastard and he wanted to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could.

. . . . .

It had been several days since Sandor had finally been able to take a few steps. The swelling was starting to go down in his knee but it was still painful. He knew he still had a very long way to go. He was getting sick of lying around in bed all the time and his back was starting to bother him. He wondered how much longer he could take being in the same room with Arya. Ever since he had seen her in the bath, he couldn’t quite get that image out of his head, especially during the night. He was disgusted with himself.

After lunch, Arya had gone outside for awhile and when she came back in her guard, Haus, came in with a big bucket of water that she had directed him to hang over the fire. Then they pulled the metal bathtub away from the wall and placed it near the bed. Sandor groaned. Gods! She was going to take another bath.

Haus continued to bring in buckets of water and poured them into the tub. Sandor was getting more and more apprehensive. How was he going to stop himself from looking at her? He was going to have turn on his side and face the wall. Haus removed the steaming bucket of water from the hook over the fire and poured it into the tub. He came in with the final bucket and hung it over the fire to warm. He went out and closed the door behind him.

Arya went over and slid the bar over the door. She turned to Sandor. “Everything’s ready.” She motioned to the tub. “Hop in.”

Sandor stared. “I’m not taking a bath.”

“Oh, yes you are. I hate to be the one to have to tell you this but seriously, you need to bathe.”

Sandor’s eyebrow shot up. What exactly was she trying to say? Did he smell? “I’ll bathe another day.” He countered.

“No.” she walked over to him. “You’ll do it now.” She stood looking down at him. “I’ll help you.” She reached down and gently grasped his shirt. He grunted but he let her help him remove it. She then unwrapped the bandage on his ribs. She examined the cut on his arm. It had been healing well. “We’re going to try to keep this dry.” She found a clean cloth and tied it around his arm to protect the injury from getting wet.

Next, she reached for the lacing on his breeches. He angrily batted her hand away. “I can do it. I’m not helpless.”

He pulled the bed sheet over himself and managed to get his breeches and smallclothes down to his ankles but before he could stop her, Arya had bent down on the floor and pulled them over his feet. Sandor could feel his face getting warm. She helped him to stand while he held the sheet over his lower half. The tub was next to the bed. She held him steady as he managed to step in.

“Now, you look away.” He growled.

She gave an exasperated sigh but she did as he asked. He removed the sheet and she helped to lower him down into the water while keeping her eyes averted the best she could. He just sat there for a moment until Arya realized the effort had exhausted him. His body was still battered and swollen, some of his bruises were still dark purple and some were faded to a greenish yellow.

Arya picked up the soap and washcloth and knelt down beside the tub. As she put the cloth in the water she noticed Sandor had covered his manhood with his hand. She lathered up the cloth and leaned forward to wash his face.

“What are you doing?"

“I told you I would help you.”

“Do you mean to bathe me like an infant?”

“Yes.”

They were practically nose to nose at this point. She knew he was angry because he was weak and had to rely on her. He pulled the cloth out of her hand and used it to cover his lap. “Get another cloth and then get it over with.” He barked.

Arya gingerly washed his face. When she wiped over his burns, he flinched and closed his eyes but he let her do it. She ran the cloth over his neck. Gods, he had an incredibly thick neck. She admired his strong, corded muscles as she slowly rubbed the cloth over him.

She took in his massive shoulders and sculpted chest. Of course, she’d seen him plenty of times without his shirt but apparently, she had never really paid enough attention to him before. He had many scars both old and new but that didn’t bother her. What caught her interest was that he reminded her of a powerful, sleek horse with his muscles rippling beneath the skin. No wonder he could swing a sword so well. He was definitely built for it.

She soaped up the cloth and rubbed circles into the thick mat of dark hair on his chest and over his impressive shoulders. Next, she carefully went downward over his well-defined pectoral and abdominal muscles. He really was like a horse; he was even jumpy and skittish as she moved the cloth slowly over him.

Sandor was looking down on her as she bent over him. He watched as she assessed his body and touched him through the cloth. It was as if she didn’t want to miss a single inch of him. He hadn’t been bathed since he was a child. Certainly, no one had bathed him since he’d become a man.

She wasn’t just brusquely scrubbing at him either. It was almost like she was caressing him. He knew he should say something and stop her but instead he allowed it. She was caressing his abdomen with her hand through the cloth and he held his breath as he willed her hand to go lower. He burned with shame at his thoughts.

She moved over to his arm and he exhaled loudly. Arya appreciated Sandor’s bulging biceps and triceps and worked her way down to his fingers. She glanced up at him and caught him watching her. He quickly looked away. She laid her hand on his thigh and his leg jumped in response. She patted him like she would a spooked horse.

As Arya washed Sandor’s legs, she couldn’t help but be awed by them. His thighs were incredible. His muscles astounded her. His legs were very long and well-formed. She’d seen men’s chests and legs in Braavos. Society was much looser there. She had also washed the bodies of dead men in the House of Black and White but she’d never seen anyone as well-built as Sandor Clegane. No one else even came close. She finally realized that while she had been marveling over him, she must have washed the same thigh at least five times. She was afraid to look at Sandor’s face. She was making a huge fool out of herself.

Sandor was pushing down on the cloth spread over his lap for dear life. He was afraid she was going to notice he was in a . . . bad way. To his horror, each time she had moved her hand up his thigh he had been unable to stop his legs from opening wider in a sort of silent invitation.

Arya lifted her washcloth out of the water and then hesitated. She looked at his hand and the cloth over his groin and wondered if she should try to wash him there. He snatched the cloth from her hand. “Turn away. I’ll take care of it.” He said roughly.

Arya didn’t look at him again. She kept her face averted in embarrassment. She went over to the fire and dipped some of the warmed water into a pitcher of cool water. She brought it over behind him and prepared to wash his hair. At the last minute she remembered his back and scrubbed it quickly and with as much disinterest as she could manage.

His back was beautifully contoured but she couldn’t help noticing that he had painful looking knots in his shoulders and back. She dropped the cloth and reached out to massage them without thinking.

“What are you doing?" Sandor yelped.

“Nothing, you have knots.” She said defensively.

“Let it be!” He roared.

Arya quickly dropped her hands. “Fine. I’m almost finished.” She huffed.

She poured some water over his head from the pitcher and started on his hair. Sandor leaned back into her touch. His head was arched backwards and his throat was exposed. Arya glanced down at his face. His eyes were closed and soft little sighs were escaping from his lips. At least she knew he didn’t hate having his hair washed. Sandor began to tremble under her hands. She quickly rinsed his hair. She decided she must have taken too long and now he was getting chilled.

She helped him up and he insisted she give him the sheet to cover himself again. She helped him to the bed and covered him with blankets. “Oh, Sandor. I let you get cold.” Arya proceeded to get on the bed with him and put her arms around him to warm him.

Sandor wasn’t cold. That wasn’t his problem at all. What had she done to him? The way she had raked her fingernails over his scalp was the last straw. It drove him wild. Oh Gods! She had had her hands all over him. He had to at least get well enough to bathe himself. He couldn’t let her touch him like that again. Now she was holding him. He tried to push her away but when he put his arms around her waist instead of pushing her away, he spread his hands over her and held her closer to him.

Arya was surprised when Sandor reached for her. His head was turned into her shoulder and his breathing was uneven. She thought again about the look on his face when she washed his hair and she began to wonder if she had . . . done something . . . wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	8. Moody Blues

Sandor had started having headaches. It began once the swelling had gone down over his eye and he was able to open it. His couldn’t really see out of it. Well, he could see dark shadows. Jaime had suggested that the headaches might be caused from the strain of not being able to focus with one eye that worked and another that didn’t.

Arya left him alone for a couple of hours and when she came back she had the maester with her. He examined Sandor’s injuries and told Arya she was a fine nurse. She didn’t look pleased with the compliment. He told Sandor that Jaime was correct and that he should start wearing an eyepatch. He didn’t know if Sandor’s vision would improve or not; only time would tell.

After the maester had gone, Arya sat down at the table and began to sew something. When Sandor realized what she was making, he got mad. “You can forget about it, Girl. I’m not wearing that thing.”

She looked up. “But the maester said . . .”

“Fuck the maester! I’m not going to swan around looking like a pirate!”

She made a face. “And what’s wrong with looking like a pirate? It beats having a constant headache doesn’t it?”

“I’m not wearing it!” He thundered.

“Oh, yes you are!”

“You can’t make me.” He said dangerously.

“You wanna bet?” She jumped up and put her hand on Needle.

“So, your brilliant plan to get me to wear that thing is to stab me to death?”

“Shut up. Either you wear it and stop your whinging about your headaches or I’ll kill you and that will stop you from whinging about your headaches. It’s your choice. You can do it the easy way or the hard way!”

Sandor watched as her grey eyes flashed and her chin came up. Seven Hells, she probably meant it. He almost laughed. He sighed. “This is just what I need.” He motioned to the eyepatch that had fallen on the floor when she had leapt up. “Like I’m already not ugly enough, now I can even be uglier.”

She bent down and picked up the patch. She sat back down in the chair. “You’re not ugly.” He stared at her incredulously. She glanced back up at him with a defiant look on her face. “Beric wore an eye patch and he was quite handsome.”

“What?” His mouth fell open. “Maybe the maester needs to check _your_ eyesight.”

She looked at him seriously. “There’s nothing wrong with my eyesight, Sandor.”

He sat down on the bed. She didn’t really think that, did she? What a ridiculous thing to say. He supposed she meant well. He watched her as she sewed. Her tongue was sticking out as she concentrated on what she was doing. He’d never seen her try to sew anything before. He wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing. He wanted to laugh again.

He decided to tell her what was really bothering him. “What if I never get the sight back in my eye?”

Arya gave him an encouraging smile. “If Beric could work around it, you can too. He was one of the best swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms."

When Jaime stopped by for dinner that evening, he tried unsuccessfully not to stare at Sandor and his new eyepatch.

“Don’t you dare say anything, Lannister, or I’ll have the Wolf Girl cut you. She’s just been itching for a fight.”

Arya turned to Jaime and she gave him her evil little smile. She patted Needle on her hip. “That’s right.”

. . . . .

The next time Arya took a bath, Sandor had hobbled outside and sat with Amos Haus until she was finished. He wasn’t about to take any chances. It was the first time he’d been outside and he was shocked at the destruction. Arya didn’t talk about Jon but he knew she was worried about him. He was worried what she might do if they decided to execute him. She’d probably get herself killed trying to help him. He considered asking Jaime and Arya’s two guards to help him keep her prisoner for her own good if it came down to it.

Arya stuck her head outside the door. “You can come in now before you catch your death of cold out there.”

Haus came inside with him and made a lot of noise while hauling out the bathwater. When he was finally finished, Sandor sat down and watched Arya as she trimmed her hair. When Arya was satisfied with the results, Sandor picked up the scissors and attempted to trim his beard. It was getting out of control. He felt like one of the crannogmen from the swamps in the Neck. He was getting frustrated. He was no good with his left hand. He didn’t know how Jaime did it.

“Here, let me.” Arya took the scissors out of his hand. She began to trim his beard.

It made Sandor feel strange. It felt intimate. He’d tried hard to avoid getting too close to Arya since his bath. He tried hard in the daytime, anyway. They were still sleeping together in the same bed. She would curl up against his side and he would put his arm around her every night. He knew it was wrong but he couldn’t make himself say anything against it. At least he’d been saved from doing anything stupid after his bath; he’d almost immediately fallen asleep in her arms.

She removed his eyepatch and combed his hair. It felt very nice to be taken care of. No one had ever taken care of him before and after Arya left him, he was sure no one would ever do it again. Sandor bowed his head. He couldn’t think about that right now.

Arya wondered what was bothering him. Sandor looked upset. She went ahead and trimmed his long hair. He didn’t protest. She put his eyepatch back on and put down the scissors. She rested her hands on his shoulders. “Sandor?”

“I’m tired, Girl.”

“Here, why don’t you lie down?” She said gently.

He limped over to the bed and got under the covers. Arya climbed in after him and put her arms around him. He knew she was only doing it because she felt sorry for him. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes tightly. He just wanted her to hold him.

. . . . .

Arya was worried about Sandor. He seemed to be very moody. She thought maybe he was depressed. He was used to being strong and active and now he was weak and sedentary. It probably didn’t help that he mostly only had her for company. She was sure she was far from being his favorite person. Maybe she should get him some of his favorite Dornish wine and invite Jaime and Amos Haus over and the men could make an evening of it.

Arya was sitting at the table at her guards’ house. Amos had left for the party and she was left alone with the soldier from the Vale, Bryce Yohan. He was particularly grumpy. He had been left out of the fun. Arya spotted some books on a shelf and began to read. Yohan sighed for the tenth time.

“Oh, go ahead and go over there. I’ll be fine.” Arya told him.

“Really?” He perked up. “I shouldn’t leave you, though.”

“I’ll lock the door. You’ll only be a few doors down. Go ahead.”

He didn’t protest again. He left quickly before she changed her mind. He came back a few minutes later with Haus and they took a couple of chairs with them. Arya was reduced to lying on the bed. She continued to read but then began to wonder what the men were doing. She supposed they were getting drunk and bragging about all their exploits and adventures. More than likely, they were making up stories too. She smiled to herself.

She had drifted off to sleep and when she awakened, she realized it must be pretty late. She stepped outside to clear her head. She stared up at the stars and shivered in the cool night air. She made her way over to her house and listened outside the window. She could hear Sandor laughing which made her feel pleased. Then she heard a female voice. That got her attention. She pressed her ear against the door.

She could hear lots of loud talking and laughing. She thought she heard at least another woman in there. What the Hells? She knew Jaime was in a relationship with Brienne, so who were those women? Did they get some whores? Did they decide to cheer Sandor up by getting him a woman? Suddenly, Arya felt a burning sensation in her cheeks. Her hand went to Needle.

After everything she had done for Sandor, it didn't seem to have made much difference. She had cared for his injuries and tried to give him moral support but she hadn’t made him happy. He didn’t laugh like that with her. She heard one of the women as she began to sing a bawdy song. Arya wanted to burst into the room and stab all of them to death; especially Sandor Clegane.

She went back to the guards’ house and locked herself in. She lay down on the bed. Of course, she didn’t make Sandor laugh. She was not pretty and girly. She was not flirty and cheerful. She didn’t know how to stroke a man’s ego. Mostly, all she knew how to do and do well was kill people. That wasn’t exactly what most men were looking for in a woman, she imagined. Then she had another thought, why was she worried about what Sandor wanted in a woman? Why did it bother her that he was over there with some doxy sitting on his lap?

About an hour later, the little party was over and Haus pounded on the door to be let in. Arya went back over to her own house, afraid of what she might find. What if Sandor was sleeping in the bed and he wasn’t alone? Well, he had better be alone. She wasn’t going to put up with that in her own home. She marched in ready for a fight. If there was a woman in her bed, she would roll her right out onto the floor and kick her in the behind.

Sandor was sitting at the table with a stupid smile on his face. She wanted to slap that smile right off of him. He was alone. There was a big mess of leftover food and dishes and cups. Playing cards were strewn over the table.

“Did you have a nice time?” Arya asked angrily.

Sandor was too drunk to notice the sarcasm. “Yeah, I had a great time. I won 12 gold dragons from Jaime.” He laughed.

“Did you _all_ have a nice time?”

“Sure!”

“What about your lady friends? Did they have a _nice_ time too?”

Sandor smiled sheepishly. “I suppose.”

Arya glanced over at the bed. It didn’t look like it had been slept in but that didn’t mean anything. She started to remove her outer clothing. She thought it best to take off Needle and her dagger before she got any bad ideas. She was going to bed.

Sandor sat there and watched her avidly as she removed the layers of her clothing. Then she remembered she always did that in the dark and not right in front of him. “Stop looking at me, you arse!”

Sandor quickly looked away. “I’m sorry.” He said like a little boy caught being naughty. “Why didn’t you want to play cards with us?”

“Do you think I wanted to waste my time with a bunch of loud-mouthed, smelly men?” She scoffed.

“Oh.”

“Besides, I thought it was an evening for you men, I didn’t realize that ladies were invited.”

Sandor frowned. “They weren’t exactly ladies.”

“Oh? And did that make a difference to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I thought most men don’t care as long as a woman is willing to, well, you know.”

“Willing to what?” His brows knit together in confusion.

Arya should have known better that to have a conversation with a drunk.

He finally realized what she meant. “Oh, none of that went on.” He looked at her again. “Those women were here with your guards. Not with me and Jaime.”

Arya got under the covers. She wouldn’t admit it to herself but she was relieved.

Sandor undressed a little unsteadily and blew out the candle and climbed into bed with Arya. He put his arm around her and she didn't fight it. “I would have much rather you were here than those women. Even if one of them had liked me, you’re the only one I care about.”

Sandor fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow but Arya lay awake for a long time. She supposed he didn’t mean it the way it sounded. Besides, he was drunk. She was well aware that whoever believes the ramblings of a drunken man is a fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	9. Don't You See?

The day of the Great Council had finally arrived. All the surviving heads of the great Houses in Westeros and some other notables were to participate. The council was to determine the fate of Tyrion Lannister, who was accused of treason and Jon Snow who was accused of assassinating the queen, Daenerys Targaryen. Sansa and Bran had been the last to arrive in King’s Landing. Arya hadn’t had a chance to meet with them yet. She was going to see them for the first time at the Dragonpit.

Sandor couldn’t walk that far but he had Amos Haus secure a horse for him and Jaime had supplied a sword. Arya had tried to argue with him that his presence wasn’t really needed and that he wasn’t recovered enough to ride. She had tried to explain as kindly as possible that he wasn’t yet strong enough to be of any real defense to her in the unlikely event it became necessary. She was taking Haus and Yohan as her escorts to the meeting.

Sandor wasn’t about to let her go there without him. It was true that he wouldn’t be able to help her much in a fight but he wasn’t really expecting a fight. He needed to be there to support her if the situation with Jon went badly. He believed the main threat to her safety would be her love for Jon. Arya might be capable of anything if she thought she might lose him. Sandor understood that she would not think twice for her own safety or the consequences of her actions if Jon’s life was at stake.

Sandor had already discussed it with Jaime. He had agreed to help restrain Arya if it became necessary. Jaime had warned him that Arya would never forgive them if she believed she could have saved Jon’s life and they had prevented her from doing it. Sandor prayed it didn’t come to that.

The Great Council was unlike any that had ever occurred before. Basically, Bran Stark had been elected the King. Furthermore, it had been decided that the North was to become an independent kingdom. Lady Sansa, as the Lady of Winterfell and the Warden of the North was well on her way to becoming a queen in her own right. Tyrion had been pardoned and named the Hand of the King and Ser Brienne of Tarth had been named the Commander of the Kingsguard. Jon’s fate hadn’t even been decided.

There had been a couple of scary moments. Sansa had threatened Grey Worm after he had not brought Jon to the meeting. He explained that he ruled the city and made the decisions. She informed him that if he would look outside the gates of the city, he would find thousands of Northmen who would explain to him why harming Jon Snow was not in his interest. Lady Yara Greyjoy had spoken out against Jon and Arya had threatened if she said another word about killing her brother she’d cut her throat. The Stark women did not hesitate to let everyone know what they were made of.

After the council was concluded, Arya turned to look at Sandor with relief on her face. Sandor could tell she was encouraged because Bran was now the King and she was hopeful for Jon’s safety. Sandor couldn’t help but think that even though Arya was Westeros’ greatest warrior and their savior, she had a lot to learn about politics. He’d spent a good many years at Court and he knew that things seldom worked out in a fair or just manner.

Jaime was hugging Tyrion but was looking over Tyrion’s shoulder longingly at Brienne. Brienne’s face turned bright red and she turned away and barked orders at Podrick. Sansa was caught up with her Uncle Edmure Tully as he tried to talk her ear off and she was having trouble getting away from him. Lord Gendry was staring bashfully at Arya as if he wanted to come over and speak to her. Sandor scowled at him and tried his best to frighten him away.

Gendry made his way over to Arya’s little group. “Lady Arya. How good it is to see you.” He bowed.

“Oh, hey, Gendry. How are you?”

“I am well. I was glad to learn you were well and had not been seriously injured.”

Arya decided he must have had lessons in manners and deportment. She wanted to laugh but restrained herself because she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. “Have you been to Storm’s End yet?” Arya asked politely.

“Yes, it needs some managing but all in all I’m very pleased with it.”

“Uh, that’s good.”

“Would you allow me to accompany you to dinner tonight? I have been invited by your family to attend their meal this evening.”

Just then, Sandor groaned and clutched at his knee. “Oh, my knee! You were right, Girl. I should have stayed at home.”

Arya turned and grasped Sandor’s arm. She let go as Haus and Yohan moved in to take him by the arms. “Sorry, Gendry, I have to go now. I have to see to Sandor. You understand.”

Arya fussed over him until they were back at their house. She bustled around and made Sandor a cup of tea. “How bad is it, Sandor?”

“Oh, if feels much better now. It might have been just a passing spasm.”

Arya sat back in her chair and looked at him suspiciously. “A passing spasm?”

Sandor shrugged and tried to look innocent.

Arya made a face. “I can handle Gendry, you know.”

“Is that right?” Sandor challenged as he raised his eyebrow. Arya turned a dark shade of crimson.

. . . . .

Sandor waited by the fire for Arya to return from dinner with her family. She had asked him to go with her but he really was exhausted from attending the council meeting and besides, he was fully aware of how awkward it would have been. Sure, he’d helped out the Starks but that didn’t mean he belonged there with them.

Arya came bounding in the door. “Guess what, Sandor? I’ve brought you something!” She had a whole bag of food. She took out some roast pork, fried potatoes, snap beans and a lemon cake along with a wineskin. She smiled at him and he smiled back. They had not had anything as nice as that since they had left Winterfell.

After he finished his meal, he knew he had to try to warn her. “Arya.”

“Hmm?”

He took a deep breath. “About Jon . . .”

“What about him?”

“I want you to be prepared.”

Her head jerked up. “What do you mean?”

“Your brother is not out of the woods yet.”

She stared at him. “No, you’re wrong. Bran wouldn’t let anything happen to him.”

Sandor reached out and took her hand. She looked at him in surprise and concern. “I’m sure Bran will try his best to spare him but you must prepare yourself just in case.”

Early the next afternoon, they received a visit from Jaime. They could tell right away something was wrong. He seemed stiff and formal. He refused to take a seat. “Lady Arya,” he paused, “I have some rather distressing news. I think you should go and meet with your family.”

Arya continued to stare at Jaime. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back and her chin in the air. “Just tell me, Jaime.”

Jaime sighed. “Jon Snow is to be exiled back to the Wall and will once again become a member of the Night’s Watch.”

“Bran wouldn’t do that.”

“According to my brother, Tyrion, it was the only way to prevent war with the Unsullied.”

Arya’s face remained impassive. “Thank you for telling me.” She walked to the door and held it open for Jaime. He touched her sleeve and gave her a sympathetic look before he left.

Arya refused to look at Sandor. She strapped on Needle and her catspaw dagger. Sandor stood in front of the door. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get Sansa and we are going to see Bran.”

“Swear your oath to me as a Stark that you will not do anything to risk your life.”

She stared at him. “I would not hurt Bran.”

“I know that. I wasn’t talking about him.”

“You think I would take on Grey Worm and the Unsullied?”

“They would kill you. Is that what Jon would want?” She tried to move past him. He grabbed her wrist. “Do you think that’s what I want?”

They looked at each other. Arya sensed something between them. She wasn’t quite sure what it was but it was important. She couldn’t seem to tear her eyes away from him. She bit her bottom lip. Sandor licked his lips unconsciously in response. He had very nice, perfectly formed lips. How had she never noticed them before? She shook he head to clear her thoughts. What was wrong with her?

Arya quickly swore to Sandor that she would not do anything foolish. She didn’t return for a long time and when she did she sat down in a chair before the fire and stared into the flames long into the night. Sandor eventually went to bed but Arya did not.

The next morning, Arya, Sansa and Bran went down to the docks to say their goodbyes to Jon.

Sansa stepped forward. “I wish there had been another way, can you forgive me?”

“The North is free, thanks to you.” Jon answered.

“But they lost their King.”

“Ned Stark’s daughter will speak for them. She’s the best they could ask for.” Sansa surged forward and she and Jon embraced long and hard.

Jon put his hand on Arya’s shoulder. “You can come see me at Castle Black, you know.”

“I can’t.”

“You think anyone will dare tell you that women aren't allowed?” He smiled.

“I’m not going back North; at least for awhile.”

Sansa turned to her. “Where are you going?”

“I’m not sure just yet.”

Jon and Arya looked at each other with tears in their eyes. “Do you still have your Needle?” He asked.

“Right here.” Arya patted her side.

Jon took Arya’s head in his hands and pulled her into an embrace as tears spilled down her cheeks.

Jon knelt before Bran. “Your grace, I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.” 

“You were exactly where you were supposed to be.” Bran responded mysteriously.

Jon gave Bran a meaningful look and then stood. He looked at them all one last time and then he turned away and walked down the stone causeway with his black fur cloak billowing out behind him.

. . . . .

Later that afternoon, Lady Sansa decided she needed her sister. She made inquiries until she found her way to Arya’s door. Amos Haus informed her that Arya was not at home but Clegane was inside. Sansa was more than a little surprised. She was aware that Sandor had stood as Arya’s shield at the council meeting but why was he inside her home when she wasn’t there? She asked Haus to tell Clegane she wished to meet with him.

Sandor had been sitting up in bed reading. He was trying to keep his mind off the fact that Arya had not yet returned. Haus had just informed him that Lady Sansa was outside when she swept into the room without warning. She dismissed Haus with a wave of her hand. She had left her guards outside the door.

Sandor struggled to stand. Sansa motioned for him for him to stop. “You appear to be injured, Sandor. Please do not get up.” He stood anyway, he knew how to show the proper respect.

“Lady Sansa, or should I say your grace?” He gave her a small, mocking smile.

Sansa smiled in return. “Lady Sansa is fine for now. I'm not quite a queen yet. What happened to you?”

“I ran into a Mountain and did not come out the better for it.”

“I see. Where’s my sister?”

Sandor’s face became serious. “I don’t know. She hasn’t returned since she left this morning.”

Sansa looked around the one room house. “Have you and my sister been staying here together under one roof?”

“She’s been taking care of me.”

Sansa’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “That hardly seems credible. We are talking about Arya, are we not? Short girl, dark hair, good with weapons?”

“Aye, that’s her.”

Sansa walked up to Sandor until she was directly in front of him. She very deliberately looked at the bed and then up into Sandor’s face. “There appears to be only one bed.”

Sandor could not help the flush of heat that spread over his neck and face.

“Do you care to explain?” Sansa continued to stare at him intently.

The silence stretched on and on while Sandor tried to think of a reasonable explanation. Unfortunately, there wasn’t one. He took a deep breath. “Nothing unseemly has happened here.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed. “Why should I believe you would not take advantage of my sister?”

Sandor was suddenly angry. “I would never do anything to hurt her! She is . . .” He clamped his mouth shut before he could finish what he had been about to say.

Sansa continued to stare up at him. She knew he wasn’t as bad as he had always tried to portray himself. He had tried to help her once before in his own way. Was it possible there was even more to him than she had realized?

The sound of the door opening startled them both. Arya stood there looking from one of them to the other. She frowned. She turned on her heel and left. Sansa quickly followed her and called out to her but Arya ignored her.

Sansa turned back to Sandor. “Tell her I want to see her.” Then Sansa and her guards disappeared into the crowd.

It was past midnight and Arya had not returned. Sandor sat in the chair waiting for her. What if she never came back? What if she was through with him? What if she had decided he was well enough and could look after himself? What if she went off and decided to do something stupid? What if she had gotten into trouble and was hurt? Then another thought came to him. What if she was with Gendry? What if she was lying underneath him right now?

Sandor heard a sound and the door opened. Arya strode into the room.

“Where have you been, Girl?” Sandor shouted.

Arya looked him up and down and sneered. She ignored him and proceeded to remove her gloves.

“You’ve blood on your sleeve!” Sandor exclaimed.

Arya glanced down. “It’s not mine.”

“Damn you, Girl. Answer my question!” He noticed she wasn’t quite steady on her feet. “Have you been drinking?”

“Are you my Septa?”

Sandor gripped her shoulder. “Answer me!”

Her eyes narrowed. “I don’t have to answer to you!”

Sandor was breathing heavily as he still held her in his grip. He stared down at her from his great height. She was right. He had no claim on her.

“Let me go.” She snapped. He didn’t want to release her but when she pulled away from him he didn’t stop her.

“Your sister . . .” He began.

“You mean the Little Bird?” She mocked. “I bet you were mighty pleased she stopped by.”

Sandor stared at her with his mouth open. “What!”

“Who do you think you’re fooling. You spent an awful lot of time mooning over her memory.”

Sandor knew he was on dangerous ground. He couldn’t afford to say the wrong thing. “Those feelings I had for your sister happened a long time ago. A lot of things have happened since then. I don’t . . .”

“You don’t what? Want to talk about it? That’s fine. I don’t want to talk about it either. As a matter of fact, I don’t want to talk to you at all, anymore. Ever.”

“Arya, you don't mean that.”

She turned to him and she was shaking. “Maybe I don't. I don't know! Oh, Sandor, it’s not fair! Jon is gone. My brother was once the King in the North and now he has lost everything!” She sobbed. “He only ever tried to do the right thing his whole entire life and look where it has gotten him. He was the best of all of us and look where it has gotten him!” She threw herself on the bed and curled up into a ball and cried her eyes out.

Sandor sat down beside her and very gingerly pulled her into his arms. “I know that you are hurting. But don’t you see; Jon has been spared. He’s alive. You should be grateful for that. He still has a long life to live. He will still have the wind in his hair, his family and his friends and a purpose. That’s more than most of the people you and I have known have left to them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it was so long. I couldn't quite figure out where to cut it so you got the whole thing. I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	10. An Offer I Can Refuse

Arya was shown into the drawing room of one of the few remaining nicer homes in King’s Landing that hadn’t been destroyed. Sansa and Bran had taken up residence there as the Red Keep had been badly damaged and needed to be rebuilt. Sansa already looked like a queen. She was sitting regally in a tall chair as she issued orders to her servants and staff as Arya waited.

Just as she finished, a tray was brought in with Arbor Gold wine and lemon cakes, honey cakes and all sorts of delicacies. Sansa smiled as she graciously poured the wine. Arya returned her smile as she loaded her plate with sweet goodness. She had just enough manners to wait until Sansa was finished pouring before she began to stuff her face.

“Arya!”

“Hmm?” Arya looked up with sticky lips.

Sansa picked up a napkin and pressed it into Arya’s hand. Arya grinned and wiped her mouth.

“Arya, I will be traveling home soon. I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not ready. Besides, Sandor isn’t well enough to make the trip. He’s not able to ride.”

Sansa grew impatient. “You know, I’ve lost Brienne. She’s now the Lord Commander of Bran’s Kingsguard. I believe I may need my own Lord Commander very soon.”

“You mean when you become the Queen in the North?”

“Yes.”

“I remember how much you always wanted to be queen.”

“Well, yes, I must admit that being a queen in my own right is going to be much more satisfying than only being a queen because I married a king.”

“You will make a fine queen, Sansa. I’m very happy for you.”

Sansa got a little teary eyed. “Arya, was that a compliment?”

Arya got a little misty herself. “No, it’s the truth.”

There was a small silence as they regained their composure.

“Arya, you must realize as the sister of two monarchs, you are going to be highly sought after. You will be doubly sought after because you are the Bringer of Dawn. That alone would bring great honor and prestige to any House that could win your hand in marriage.”

Arya frowned. “No, Sansa. I won’t be a pawn.”

“I know you don’t want to be used to make alliances. I remember well when Father explained the way of the world to you and what your role as his daughter would be. He told you that you would become a wife and a mother.” She laughed. “You were fit to be tied. You told him you were going to become a knight and never wear a dress. Do you remember?”

“I remember.”

“Apparently, Lady Knights are an actuality now since Lady Brienne became the first one. How would you like to become one too?”

Arya stared at Sansa. “What?”

“I will need a Lord Commander of my Queensguard. I would be honored if you would accept the position.”

Arya shook her head. “I’m not ready. I want to travel, I want to . . .”

“Travel? Haven’t you traveled enough? You’ve spent nearly half of your life away from home. After spending a little time in King’s Landing, I realized all I ever wanted to do was to get back home to Winterfell.”

“I’ll think about your offer, Sansa.”

Sansa nodded and then her face became serious. “There is one other thing that I feel is my duty to discuss with you as your sister.”

“What’s that?”

“Sandor Clegane.”

Arya stared at her steadily as her chin came up defiantly.

Sansa could see that Arya was going to be obstinate. “I have heard that he kidnapped you for ransom a long time ago.”

Arya’s eyebrow lifted. “And your point is . . .?”

“I understand from Lord Jaime that you and Clegane fought the Mountain. It’s obvious that you feel loyalty towards him. You have nursed him under some primitive conditions in a destroyed city following a battle but now that order is restored, you can’t continue to live with him under the same roof.”

“I love you Sansa but who are you to tell me what I can or can’t do?”

“Now, don’t get mad. I spoke to Clegane and he has assured me nothing inappropriate has occurred but surely you must realize this must stop. It is too dangerous to your reputation.”

“Are you worried about my reputation or that I might embarrass my family?”

“I know you don’t want to marry right now but someday you might. You will severely damage your prospects if you persist in this behavior.”

“If I become Lord Commander of the Queensguard and choose to remain unmarried, what difference does it make if I damage my prospects and no one wants to marry me?"

Sansa rolled her eyes. “Will you listen to me? We can assign someone to stay with Clegane until he is well again. You can even stay next door and visit him daily. It’s living under the same roof and sharing a bed that is the problem.”

“Sansa, I can handle my own business.”

Your loyalty to him is admirable. He is lucky to have you for a friend. If you are worried about his future, once he is well, he can resume his duties in the Kingsguard for Bran.”

It wasn’t lost on Arya that Sansa hadn’t offered Sandor a position in the Queensguard. Apparently, Sansa thought it best if Arya was at Winterfell and Sandor was 1500 miles away in King’s Landing. “You are mistaken, Sansa. I am the one who is lucky to have Sandor as my friend. By the way, he hated the Kingsguard.”

“That was because he served the Baratheons. Anyone would have hated that. Serving as Kingsguard for Bran would be so much better.”

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? How can you offer Sandor a job with Bran? You don’t even know if Bran would have him.”

“Oh, Bran already said he would take him.”

Arya’s lips curled into an unpleasant smile. There it was. Sansa had overplayed her hand. It was now completely obvious her sister was trying to manipulate the situation to get what she wanted. She shouldn’t have been surprised; Sansa was Littlefinger’s protégé after all.

Arya stood up. “I will consider what we have discussed here today. I will inform Sandor of Bran’s offer. If you would excuse me, I’d like to see Bran now, if you don’t mind.”

Arya was granted an audience with her brother. Bran was sitting at a writing desk with papers strewn about. He asked Arya to take a seat.

“It’s good to see you, Arya.”

Arya was relieved that Bran seemed more present and less otherworldly than he had before. “Bran, I mean Your Grace, it’s good to see you too.”

“Just call me Bran. What can I do for you, Arya?”

“I’m a little uncertain about my future right now. Do you have any advice for me?”

“I understand Sansa has offered you a position as Ser Arya of Winterfell.”

“That does have a nice ring to it but . . .”

“It’s not what you want?”

“Not really.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I understand you are offering Sandor a position in the Kingsguard and a knighthood I presume.”

“I hear he objects to becoming a knight. I would not force it upon him. He could serve without a knighthood just as he did before.”

“What exactly is the sworn oath of a Kingsguard?”

Bran studied her face before he answered. “To protect the king, to obey his commands, to keep his secrets, to commit to a lifetime of service, to hold no lands, to sire no children and to take no wife. This would be expected of your Sandor Clegane if he were to belong to my Kingsguard.”

“My Sandor Clegane?”

A ghost of a smile crossed Bran’s lips. “He is your Sandor Clegane, is he not? Did you not choose him when faced with the choice of vengeance against Cersei or saving his life?”

Arya swallowed. Did Bran see everything? Besides, even if she did choose Sandor, he hadn’t chosen her.

. . . . .

Sandor was dozing when Arya returned to their townhouse. She opened her bag and placed some meat pies and sour cream she had bought from a street vendor on the table. She also brought out some of the lovely cakes she’d stolen from Sansa. She shook Sandor's foot to wake him up.

He grumbled loudly but once he sniffed the air he sat right up and then he hastened his way to the table. He smiled at Arya appreciatively as they began to eat. “How did it go with Sansa?” He asked between bites of pie.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“That bad, huh?”

“I saw Bran too. He gave me some coin.”

“Ah, so having a King for a brother is not so bad, is it?”

“Three of my brothers have been kings, if you recall.”

He nodded and they finished their meal. Arya flopped down on the bed. She propped her head up on her elbow and looked at Sandor. His bruising was almost all gone. He looked better than he had in a long time. He seemed to be healing well with the exception of his eye. He even looked younger since she’d trimmed his bushy beard.

He noticed that she was observing him. “What, do I have sour cream on my face?” He swiped his arm across his mouth.

“The King has offered you a knighthood and has asked you to become a member of the Kingsguard.”

He frowned. “I’m no knight.”

“It’s been pointed out to me by Sansa that being a knight under Bran would be much more honorable than what you were formerly used to.”

He gave her a look. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

“Anyway, he said you don’t have to become a knight to serve.”

“I don’t want to seem ungrateful to your family. It is a generous offer. But no.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to think about it, Sandor?”

“I’m sure, Girl.”

“You like your freedom?”

Yes, he thought. He had his reasons for needing his freedom.

“There’s a ship sailing for Oldtown in the Reach at the end of the week.” She said casually.

“The Reach?”

“Yes, King’s Landing has never been my favorite place and now that it’s mostly demolished it’s more depressing than ever. I hear the Reach is still sunny and warm. It sounds nice.”

Sandor exhaled. “Oh?”

“Sansa has generously offered to get someone to stay with you until you get back on your feet.”

Sandor quickly looked away. He knew she would want to leave him sooner or later but somehow he had just assumed she would at least stay until he had recovered. He was in no position to follow her to the Reach. He had no coin for a ship’s passage or even a horse. He wasn’t strong enough to ride a horse all the way there, either.

Arya watched him carefully for his reaction. “What do you think of the Reach?” Sandor didn’t respond so she got off the bed and stood behind his chair. Sandor closed his eyes as he felt Arya rest her hand on his shoulder. She continued, “I hear sunshine and warmth is good for healing.” Before Sandor knew what he was doing, he had put his hand over hers. Arya spoke very softly. “I mean, the Reach is so far away. A girl might have need of a traveling companion.”

It took Sandor awhile before he could trust himself to speak. Arya wondered if he was trying to think of a polite way to refuse her. She tried to remove her hand but he gripped it tighter. “Yes, Girl, the Reach sounds just fine to me.”

Arya left shortly thereafter to make the travel arrangements. She had been afraid to stay in the house with Sandor for much longer. She was afraid of her emotions. She was afraid of how vulnerable Sandor made her feel.

. . . . .

“Am I too late for dinner?” Jaime joked.

“Did you bring a chicken? We already had dinner but Sandor always has room for a chicken.” Arya said as she laughed.

Jaime was joking as usual and being annoyingly arrogant in his charming way but Arya thought he didn’t quite seem himself. Then it dawned on her. Brienne had taken the Kingsguard oath and she could take no husband. Arya was devastated for him. Why had Brienne forsaken him? She wondered if it was because he’d left her to come to King’s Landing and to Cersei. She wondered if Jaime had been so foolish that he hadn’t told her of his merciful intentions regarding his sister and Brienne had assumed that he’d come to support and defend her.

Sandor told Jaime of their plans to go to Oldtown. Jaime recommended they go to the Three Towers near Oldtown instead. Once Sandor had heard the settlement was very near the Arbor where Arbor Gold and Arbor Red wines were produced, he was all for it.

Just before Jamie took his leave, Arya asked him to not say anything about their trip to Sansa. Jaime nodded knowingly. She surprised Jaime when she gave him a big hug and a kiss on his cheek as they said their goodbyes. Arya sighed sadly as the door closed behind him.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see the day Arya Stark was sad to part from a Lannister.” Sandor snorted.

“Shut up.”

That evening Arya slipped into bed beside Sandor and snuggled up alongside him as usual.

"You sure looked all lovey-dovey hugging on Jaime like that."

Arya sighed. "Sandor, you're being ridiculous. It was just a hug. Friends hug friends all the time. It's perfectly acceptable."

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

Sandor turned towards her and took her into his arms and held her tightly against him. A sudden burning heat flushed over her. It didn't feel like any hug she'd ever had before. Arya panicked for a moment but then as she realized that was all he intended to do, her breathing slowed and she relaxed into Sandor's warmth and was lulled to sleep by the rhythmic rise and fall of his big chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	11. Revelations

Haus and Yohan accompanied Arya and Sandor to the docks. Sandor had to once again ride a horse while the rest of them walked. They both thanked the guards for their service and Sandor shook their hands. Arya pressed some coins on each of them. They both tried to refuse but Arya explained it was bad manners to refuse a gift so they had no choice but to accept it. She told them to have a drink and a warm meal courtesy of House Stark.

Arya and Sandor were rowed out to their ship, the Steady Breeze. Arya was worried about Sandor being able to climb aboard but he managed to do it with some effort. They were shown to their cabin. Luckily, Arya had been able to get a cabin on the main deck. She would have hated the idea of staying below decks with little to no air circulation and climbing ladders would have caused Sandor problems.

She wanted them to be able to open the door for fresh air and sunshine whenever they needed it. The galleon was mainly built for transporting goods and not with passenger comfort in mind. Their room was extremely small and cramped. Sandor would have to be careful not to hit his head on the ceiling.

Both Arya and Sandor stood on the deck as they sailed out of the Blackwater Bay. Arya breathed deeply of the brisk sea breeze. Ever since she’d first sailed aboard the Titan’s Daughter for Braavos, Arya had discovered that she loved the sea. She had immediately acclimated to the roll and pitch of the ship on the waves but apparently Sandor had not. His face was decidedly green.

“Have you ever set sail before?” Arya asked.

“I sailed from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea on Daenerys Targaryen’s ship to King’s Landing with Jon when we brought the wight to prove to Cersei of the existence of the Army of the Dead. What a waste of time that turned out to be. I won’t say I enjoyed the experience.”

“Which experience? Going beyond the Wall or sailing?”

“Both.” He laughed shakily. He left her to go back to the cabin.

Arya watched him as he walked. His knee was slowly improving. He had been able to walk progressively further distances before the pain became too great and he had to stop. He wouldn’t have to walk very far on the ship but Arya knew she had to make sure that he continued to exercise out on the deck. Being trapped in a cabin with Sandor for too long probably wouldn’t be a good idea. Eventually, he would probably bite her head off.

Arya wasn’t quite able to trick anyone into believing she was a boy any longer. She had stopped strapping down her breasts as tightly as before. There really wasn’t a point and it had become increasingly uncomfortable. The sailors eyed her and were puzzled by her dressing like a man. They might still have been tempted to become overly friendly except for the skinny sword and wicked dagger at her hip. She walked with confidence and they were certain she knew how to use them.

The sailors were also watchful of her partner. The huge scarred man was intimidating. He didn’t come out on deck as often as the girl but when he did, he would give the sailors a murderous look if he caught them gaping at his companion. They made certain to watch their step around him.

Arya hadn’t given their real names. She had assumed it would be asking for trouble if she had. The Captain had no idea who the girl was but he knew she was no ordinary girl. He recognized that no matter what name he was traveling under, the big man was actually the Hound. The girl seemed to love sailing and had begun to make friends with some of his men and followed them around and asked lots of questions about their duties and was intent on learning all she could. One afternoon the Captain had been out on deck and the Hound had caught the girl high up in the rigging.

“Gir!” He bellowed. “Get down here this instant!”

The girl quickly scrambled down like a little monkey. The Captain admired her gracefulness. She was fearless and if it wasn’t for the fact she was a female, she’d probably make a fine sailor. The Captain laughed to himself. The Hound angrily reprimanded the girl and pointed her to their cabin. He wondered about them. He didn’t think the Hound was her father and he also didn’t think she was his wife.

Later that afternoon, Arya was curled up on the bunk. She was reading a book and was aggressively ignoring Sandor. He had yelled at her pretty good and she was pretty mad. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh but she had frightened him to death.

Sandor got up from the table and stood before the bunk. She continued to ignore him. “Would you mind moving over? I’d like to lie down.”

Arya got up and moved over to the chair he’d just vacated. Eventually, Arya moved back to the bed and reclined with her back to Sandor. He grinned. He knew she had physically pressed her back into him to bring home the point of how hard she was ignoring him. It was as if she wanted to ignore him up close and personal so there was no mistaking how angry she was.

Being on the ship with her had been pure torture. When they’d been together at King’s Landing he’d been in rough shape. When he had lain beside her then, he had mostly thought of the comfort she brought to him. But now that he was feeling so much better and stronger, having her beside him was getting more and more difficult every night.

His thoughts had turned to other things besides comfort. He was ashamed to admit how much he wanted to touch her. As a matter of fact, he spent a great deal of time longing to touch her. He wasn’t sleeping well. He had to be really careful that he kept his distance and behaved properly. He tried to sleep on his back but sometimes he woke up in the morning pressed firmly against her and with his hands where they shouldn’t be. She hadn’t caught him yet or at least if she did, she hadn’t said anything about it.

“Arya.”

Of course, she ignored him.

“Arya, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. You just made me nervous is all.”

Arya dropped her book onto the floor with a thud. She rolled over and studied his face. He tried not to look at her. “You were worried about me?”

“Mmm.” He tried to answer noncommittally. He could see the smirk on her face out of the corner of his eye.

. . . . .

The ship docked at the city of Sunspear in Dorne to deliver and pick up cargo. Sandor and Arya decided to disembark and spend the night at an inn. They really needed a change of scenery and a break from the ship. Sunspear was a walled city with a narrow labyrinth of streets. There were palm and citrus trees. The tall, slender Spear Tower that was topped with shining steel glinted in the sun. The grand domed Tower of the Sun which housed the throne room for the Prince of Dorne was equally impressive.

There was a noisy bazaar offering a variety of exotic items. The heat was oppressive. The people were colorfully dressed and the women wore much lighter clothing. Arya was somewhat used to a freer society since she’d lived in Braavos but Sandor was in awe. He’d never seen anything like it. They bought some blood oranges from a street vendor and then found an inn.

They sat down to a meal of spicy lamb stuffed grape leaves, flatbread, white cheese, olives and dried dates. Sandor was pleased with the Dornish sour red wine. They were shown to their room and Arya ordered a nice, hot bath. Bathing on the ship had been minimal at best and Arya was determined to pamper herself. There was fragrant soap and almond oil. Sandor left the room while she bathed. After he returned, Arya gave him his privacy so he could bathe. Sandor had wanted it that way ever since she’d given him a bath. Arya had come to the conclusion that her touching him had made him pretty uncomfortable.

Arya knocked gently on the door. Sandor let her back into the room. He was shirtless. It was very warm. He sat on the chair and rubbed the back of his neck. Arya picked up the almond oil and stood in front of him.

“Sandor?”

“Hmm?”

“Are you finally going to let me take care of the knots in your shoulders?”

There was a long silence. Finally, Arya oiled her hands and stood behind him and rested her hands on the back of his neck. He jerked in response but he didn’t tell her to stop so Arya began to knead his neck and shoulders. She used her thumb and fingertips to put pressure on the knots to help soften them. She created friction and increased the temperature of the muscles to release the tightness and tension.

When Sandor was finally able to submit and relax, her fingers relieved his pain and he was flushed with warmth. She rendered him pliant and yielding under her expert touch. Sandor wondered how Arya knew how to give a massage. He wondered how many times she must have performed it to become such an expert at it. He wondered if Arya had been forced to work in a brothel after she had left him. He wondered when she was alone and defenseless, if she had fallen into the hands of unscrupulous men who had used her.

“That’s enough, Girl.” Sandor rose suddenly and went out onto the little balcony. His thoughts were all in a tangle even as his body betrayed him. He stood at the railing, looking over the city as his thoughts calmed and the physical result of her touch subsided. He had liked that massage a little _too_ much.

Arya knew she had upset him. She knew he didn’t like being touched. She knew he particularly didn’t like being touched by her. He had hugged her only once. At the time she thought he had meant something by it but since he’d never repeated it, she supposed he must have been joking. Sometimes he woke up hard against her but since she had traveled with Yoren, Gendry, Hot Pie, and lots of other men, she knew that was natural and meant nothing. She had better learn to accept that although Sandor cared about her, he didn’t think about her in the way a man thinks about a woman.

As they were walking back to the ship, a man called out to Sandor by name. The man was lying in a doorway. He was obviously drunk. He was filthy, smelly and dressed in rags. Sandor ignored him and they kept on walking.

Later that evening when they were out to sea again, Arya asked Sandor if he knew who the man was.

“It was Boros Blount, a rather nasty piece of work. He served in the Kingsguard with me.”

“Yes, the Kingsguard was full of degenerates.” Arya agreed.

Sandor nodded. “Too bad you didn’t get Meryn Trant. I remember he was on your list. I heard he was killed in a brothel in Braavos.”

“Yeah, I heard that too. I heard he had a penchant for young girls. I heard he was stabbed in both eyes. I heard some very choice words were said to him. I heard his throat was cut and his lifeblood sprayed forth like a fountain. I heard . . .”

“Did you tell him who you were?”

“I sure did. I . . .” Arya stopped speaking. She looked over at Sandor. He was looking at her steadily. She turned away. She was angry at herself for her big mouth. She hadn’t planned on telling him about that.

“So, you worked in a brothel?” Sandor asked quietly.

Her head jerked back around to face him. “What! No, of course not.” She said indignantly. “Why would you think that?”

“I mean,” he paused. “I mean you were a young girl out alone in the world with no protection. If you had been forced to . . . or did what you had to do, I understand and I’m sorry.”

“No, Sandor, I never worked in a brothel. No one ever took me against my will. No rapers got me. For the most part I was protected by this . . . group I had joined. They took care of me except for when I was blind but by then I could protect myself.”

“You were blind?”

“Yeah, that was my punishment for killing Meryn Trant. I was put on the street for a couple of weeks and had to fend for myself. It was hard but I did it. I showed them! I had to beg for coins. I wasn’t afraid!”

Sandor looked at her. The way she’d said that last part so defiantly gave away just how afraid she had been.

“I saw Trant in the street and I followed him into the brothel. He didn’t recognize me. What made you think I had been a . . . courtesan?”

“There were women at Littlefinger’s that would give massage.”

Arya snorted. “Did the massage I gave you on your shoulders feel anything like what the courtesans at Littlefinger’s gave to you?”

“I never, they never . . . I never got a massage from them.”

“Why not? Did it cost extra or something?” She smiled.

Sandor got up and quickly moved to the door but not before she’d seen his pained expression. He put his hands over his face and covered it.

“Sandor,” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I know you don’t always tell the truth, Girl. I want you to know I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you and if you were forced to do . . . you don’t need to tell me but if you ever need to tell me, you can.”

“Sandor, I already told you. No one hurt me in that way. I learned massage to treat sore muscles at the same place I learned how to cook.”

“Oh, Arya.” Sandor choked back a sob. All this time I blamed myself. I was tormented. I was so sure you had been murdered or horribly raped or mistreated.”

Arya took a few steps until she was beside him. It helped her to know that Sandor had cared and that he had been tormented over her fate. She tucked her face into his arm. He pulled her against his side and held her tight.

“I’m so relieved, Arya.”

“I joined this . . . elite group. I was taught to fight. The treatment I was given was not gentle. They beat me sometimes. It was very hard but I learned. I had to. It was learn or die.”

Sandor looked down into Arya’s angry face. “Is that why you are so mad at me?”

“Yes.” She moved away. “That’s part of it.”

“If . . .”

“No. I’m not going to talk about it. Don’t ask me.”

Sandor looked at the hard set of her face. Her expression was the same as when he’d last seen her at Winterfell; cold and hard. He nodded. He wouldn’t force her to do anything she wasn’t ready for. He was suspicious about her so-called elite group. He decided that for now, he was going to be grateful that she had not been hurt in _all_ the ways he had imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	12. The Reach

The long voyage was almost over. Arya and Sandor sailed through the Redwyne Straights past the Arbor and were nearing the mouth of the Whispering Sound that led to Oldtown. The Three Towers was on the southern shore near the entry to the sound. Since the Three Towers was not a port, Arya had made arrangements for them to be rowed ashore for a price.

The Three Towers castle rose majestically from the top of a massive cliff. It was the home of House Costayne. Above the clifftop on the headland was the fertile and prosperous agricultural area of plains and fields of the southern Reach. It had been unaffected by the War of the Five Kings.

Main Town sat on the cliff adjacent to the castle. Arya and Sandor said farewell to the Captain and his men. The Captain told Arya he would gladly welcome her back whenever she was ready for a life at sea. Sandor growled. As they were rowed closer and closer to the shore, the first thing that became apparent was the horrendous amount of steps carved into the cliff face that had to be climbed to reach the top.

Their trip had taken so long that most of Sandor’s broken bones had healed. His knee seemed to be in much better shape but he was still dubious of the long climb up all those steps. Arya made sure they took their time and stopped to rest on the way up.

They soon found the inn and Arya quickly checked Sandor’ knee once they had taken a room. It was only slightly swollen. Arya had some willow bark tea sent up to him for the inflammation. Everyone they met was friendly and welcoming.

The settlement and the surrounding area were not war-torn or abandoned such as they were used to experiencing. There were no roving bands of hungry robbers or killers taking what they wanted. There were also no abandoned cottages either. After asking around, Arya realized that if they did not want to rent a residence in town, she would have to see Lord Tommen Costayne’s steward about a home in the countryside since the lands were all owned by the Lord.

Sandor and Arya discussed it and decided they did not want to draw undue attention to themselves and since Sandor was so easily recognized, she was going to have to be the one to go to the steward. Arya considered different stories that she could tell to the steward about their identities. She didn’t bother Sandor with the details. She went out and made some arrangements and a week later she left Sandor to meet with the steward.

Arya came bounding up the stairs and flung open the door to their room. “Guess what, Sandor! I got it! I got us a place!”

Sandor stared at Arya. “What . . . what have you done to yourself?” He sputtered.

Arya glanced down at herself. “Oh, this is my disguise. Don’t worry; I’m never wearing this again. You are a merchant from King’s Landing that lost your home and business and are injured and need to recover. Your name is Ned Brandywine. I’m your goodwife, Cat.” She beamed.

Sandor couldn’t get over it. She was wearing a dress. He didn’t know where she had gotten it but she looked good. Her hair was styled and curled and she looked like a woman; a beautiful young woman. He had heard someone comment at Winterfell that she looked like her aunt Lyanna Stark but Sandor couldn’t see it then. He could see it now.

The cottage was a mile or so outside of the settlement. It was very small with only a single room. It was in an overgrown thicket of brush and trees and there were flowers living happily amongst the weeds. When they got inside Arya was glad to see that it was furnished just as the steward had said. She was dismayed that everything was covered with a thick layer of dust. Arya put away the food they’d brought and picked up a broom that she found in the corner.

Sandor sat on the edge of the bed. “Girl, help me with my boots.”

Arya put down the broom and knelt down beside the bed and took off Sandor’s boot. She knew his knee was bothering him again. Afterwards, she moved to the fireplace. “I’ll make you some more willow bark tea.”

“Arya.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you tell Lord Tommen Costayne's steward that we are husband and wife?”

“What? You’d rather be my father?” She wasn’t really paying attention. She was looking for a kettle.

“Uh, well, we could have been brother and sister, I suppose.”

“Really, Sandor? Who’s going to believe that? I mean look at you and look at me.”

Sandor thought about it. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Yes, I’m always right and the sooner you realize that, the better.”

“Arya?”

“Hmm?”

“Would you like to take a nap with me?”

Arya’s turned to look at him. Was Sandor trying to tell her he needed her? He looked awfully worn out. “Oh, you’re right, Sandor. I am exhausted. It would be much easier to set this place to rights once I’ve had some rest.” She hurried over to the bed and removed her boots. She crawled into the bed beside him. She threw caution to the wind and put her arm across his chest. To her surprise, he took hold of her hand.

Arya could feel his chest rumble as he laughed. “Seriously? Ned and Cat? Where did you ever come up with those two names?”

. . . . . 

Arya and Sandor both found solace from living a stable life in the relative safety of the Reach. They eventually relaxed when they realized they didn’t have to be constantly on guard since danger wasn’t continually surrounding them from all sides. They were still careful of people and situations but it was a relief not to be forever worried about what would happen next.

They worked on the little cottage as it had been neglected and they tried to make it more comfortable. Arya picked plums and baked pies which Sandor really enjoyed. Sandor built a fence and they kept a couple of goats. Arya never laughed so hard in her life the first time Sandor tried to milk the goat and the goat had other ideas and sent Sandor sprawling into the mud.

Sandor repaired the old hen house and they bought a rooster and some hens so they could have fresh eggs every day. They even had some fried chicken on occasion. Arya cleaned up the flower garden and picked flowers that she would keep in a vase on the table. Sandor chopped firewood and would carve little figurines at night beside the fire that he would give to Arya. She would read to him from a book of old legends while he whittled.

Sandor turned over the earth and Arya planted vegetable seeds. There was an incredible abundance of food in the Reach. Winter had not yet arrived there. Arya remembered all the times they’d been hungry while Sandor was trying to get her back to her family. That part of Westeros had been devastated by the war and most people had been starving. They weren’t hungry now. Sandor hunted and set snares for the plentiful small game in the area and he fished in the nearby creek.

One night they were sitting beside the fire and Arya watched the shadows of the flickering flames play over Sandor’s features as he was lost in thought. “You never told me what happened after we . . . after we parted in the Vale. How did you survive?” She asked.

Sandor didn’t answer her for a long time. Arya wanted to kick herself for bringing it up. He was probably remembering how she’d abandoned him. She didn’t want Sandor to think badly about her. She never did know when to keep her big mouth shut.

Sandor surprised her when he quietly told her about how Brother Ray had saved him and his followers nursed him back to health. He told her of Brother Ray’s wisdom and acceptance of Sandor in spite of all of his sins. He explained how Brother Ray taught forgiveness and peaceful living and they were building a community.

Then he told her how some renegade members of the Brotherhood without Banners had come to the community demanding food and coin. “I went out to cut wood and when I returned a few hours later, every last one of my friends was dead.” He sighed. “I buried them all. It took a long time. Then I tracked those men down and I found them just as Beric and Thoros were preparing to hang them for what they’d done.”

“And is that when you joined the Brotherhood?”

He nodded. She remembered when she’d seen Sandor at Winterfell on the battlements; she had sensed there was a change in him. He wasn’t quite so harsh and as hopeless as he had been before. “I’m glad Sandor. I’m glad they found you. I’m glad they helped you. I’m glad they were good to you and I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Sandor didn’t respond but later that night in bed as she was cuddled up against his side he squeezed her tightly. “I’m glad I’m not dead too.”

. . . . .

Sandor had slowly regained his health and was once again as strong as an ox. He began to do odd jobs for some of the neighbors in exchange for work he needed help with around their cottage and also for coin. Lord Tommen Costayne's steward began to send jobs his way as well.

Late one morning Arya was out in the yard practicing her water dancing as usual when Sandor couldn’t help mocking her.

“Put your money where your mouth is, Clegane!” She challenged.

“You still think you can beat me with that skinny sword, Girl?” He scoffed.

“I don’t think it. I know it.” She bragged.

They sparred a bit. Sandor was stronger but Arya was quicker. After several minutes, she had her blade to his throat.

“Bloody Girl.” He muttered. “Are you still trying to kill me after all this time?”

Arya smiled at him tenderly and before she knew it a tear had slipped from her eye. Sandor took Needle from her hand and stepped up close to her. He wiped her tear away. He looked down on her from his great height and smiled. “Now, be a good girl and go make me some lunch.”

Arya began to curse under her breath but she went into the house. Sandor did a few chores and then he washed up and when he got inside the table was set and his meal was ready. Sandor sat down and picked up his fork and was about to take a bite when he noticed Arya was standing beside the table watching him.

“You haven’t poisoned the food, have you?” He put down his fork. She grinned and raised her eyebrow. He reached out and pulled her onto his lap.

“Sandor, what are you doing, stop!” She giggled.

He picked up the fork. “Here, you take the first bite.”

Arya took the fork from him and ate the food. “See, everything’s fine. Are you satisfied?” She laughed and hopped off his lap.

Sandor eyed her from her head to her feet and then back up again. He looked her right in the eye. “Oh, Aye, I’m satisfied alright.”

. . . . .

Their neighbor, Ben, had come by to help Sandor repair a leak in the roof and so Arya had invited him to share dinner with them. He told them some rather uninteresting gossip about their other neighbors. Arya poured him a cup of ale.

“Thanks. I’m glad to see you keep ale in the house to serve a guest. I wish everyone did.” He joked.

Arya’s eyes flew to Sandor. He looked away quickly. He knew she was thinking about the farmer he had robbed. He remembered he had complained about the lack of ale at the farmer’s table.

Ben finished his meal and left. Arya was quiet the rest of the evening. Sandor was upset. He remembered how she’d shouted at him and called him the worst shit in the Seven Kingdoms. “I buried them." He blurted out suddenly.

“What?”

“The farmer and his daughter. The Brotherhood and I came across their seemingly abandoned farm. They decided to stay the night there. The farmer and his daughter were huddled together and all that remained of them was bones. They had starved. I knew I was responsible. After everyone was asleep, I buried them. Thoros woke up and helped me. I tried to say a prayer over them but I couldn’t remember all the words.” Sandor bowed his head.

Arya came up behind his chair. She didn’t say anything but she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him and kissed him on the temple. She held him like that for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	13. Complications

Sandor was sitting at the table. He had made a churn so they could have some butter.

“How exactly do you work this thing, Sandor?”

“Are you serious? Haven’t you ever seen butter being churned before?”

“Of course, I have.” She scowled.

He knew she wouldn’t admit that she hadn’t. He laughed. “It’s not complicated. You pour the cream in, put the lid back on and then pump the handle up and down until the cream turns into butter.”

“Is that all?” Arya poured some cream from the goat milk into the churn. She put the lid on and gave the handle a few tentative tries. She stopped and looked at Sandor.

“You’re going to have to pump it a lot longer and a lot harder than that. Put your back into it.”

Arya bit her bottom lip. She got a determined look on her face. She started off slow and then she sped up until she was vigorously pumping the handle. A slow smile spread across Sandor’s face. Now this was entertaining. He watched as Arya became heated and her face flushed with warmth. Her breasts were moving in the most tantalizing way. He noted how her strong hands firmly gripped the handle and worked it up and down. She went faster and faster.

Sandor wondered if she’d be this enthusiastic in bed. He imagined her sweaty with her breasts swaying as she rode him for all she was worth. He hastily got up from the table and left the house. He walked around behind the shed and waited until he calmed down. He realized he must be a pervert of the highest order.

Everything had been going so well between them. He was happy in this primitive cottage out in the middle of nowhere with Arya. He didn’t want to spoil what they had together because of his base needs. But the more Sandor tried not to think about Arya, the more he thought about her. The daytime had been mostly manageable until recently. Most of the time, he thought about her while they were in bed at night as she slept beside him. He imagined his name on her lips as he . . . Seven Hells! Now he was daydreaming about her in the middle of the afternoon.

Arya wondered what was bothering Sandor. He had been so moody and abrupt with her lately. Sometimes she thought he was trying to avoid her. It seemed he spent more and more time away from her. Sometimes he would stay outdoors all day. Perhaps, now that he was well and didn’t need her to care for him any longer, he wanted her to leave. She thought she pulled her weight with the chores. She didn’t think she was being a burden to him. She was forced to consider the possibility that he just didn’t like her company.

Arya was feeling low so she decided to take a basket with a pie and a loaf of bread she’d just baked to her neighbor, Ann Smothers. Ann was a widow who lived with her son. She’d been feeling poorly recently and Arya remembered how kind she’d been to her when she’d first arrived. She’d brought Arya and Sandor some jelly and baked goods as a welcome gift. She left Sandor a note on the table telling him where she’d gone.

Arya had a nice visit with the Widow Smothers even though they didn’t have a whole lot in common. It was nice just to talk to another woman. Her son came in during the noon hour and made them all lunch. He was a strapping young man and looked to be in his early twenties. He had blond hair and blue eyes. Arya thought he was handsome and personable. His name was Eric. She admired they way he cared for his mother.

The widow was talking about blackberry preserves. She explained there was a blackberry thicket not far away and the berries should be ripe. So it transpired that Arya went off with Eric Smothers to pick blackberries after lunch. They picked the berries until they were hot and sticky and then she followed Eric down the hill to the creek to cool off.

They both removed their boots and socks. The stream was only a few feet deep. Eric went in and submerged himself fully clothed. Arya rolled up her trouser legs and waded in. Eric splashed her a little bit and grinned.

“If you don’t mind my asking, why don’t you dress like the other ladies?” He questioned.

“You mean, why don’t I wear a dress?”

“Yes, and don’t take this the wrong way but you seem rather . . . manly.”

“Manly?”

“You know, like at any minute you could unsheathe your sword and kill me.”

You have no idea, Arya thought to herself. “I come from a place where even a woman has to be ready to fight and defend herself.”

“Is that why you married that big brute of a man, for protection?”

Arya thought his questions were rather impertinent. She sat down on a large rock beside the stream and put her socks and boots back on. 

Eric continued. “I’d like to hear about where you’re from. You’re considered somewhat of a mystery around here. There’s a lot of speculation about you.”

“Why?”

He took his hand from the water and motioned to her clothing.

“I don’t fit in?” She clarified.

He stood up and came over and sat beside her on the rock. “You don’t bother me. I admire strong women.”

There was a loud sound from behind as Sandor came storming through the trees. He snatched hold of Arya’s arm and pulled her to her feet.

“Hey!” Eric exclaimed as he stood up.

Sandor shoved him onto his ass. “Don’t you ever get friendly with my woman again.” He snarled. He then started to haul Arya away.

“Wait! My basket.” He let her get the basket while still clutching her arm. He marched her all the way back home. Arya had to scramble to keep up with his long strides as he almost dragged her along. She hadn’t seen him this angry in _years_.

They made it back to the cottage and Sandor brought her inside and parked her in the chair. “That moon-faced boy was about to kiss you!”

“No he wasn’t.”

“Of course, he was!”

“No, he wasn’t and so what if he was? What do you care? You spend all your time avoiding me! Besides, you’re exaggerating. I really think he just wanted to be friends.”

Sandor was taken aback and struck momentarily speechless. Finally, he found his voice. “You are supposed to be my _goodwife_ , remember? How would it look if my wife went about being _friendly_ with all the men in the Reach?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sandor was so angry he couldn’t stop himself. “Don’t deny that you slept with your _friend_ , the Great Lord Gendry Baratheon!”

Arya’s face turned scarlet. “I didn’t sleep with Lord Baratheon. I slept with Gendry Waters. That’s not the same thing. Besides, who I sleep with or don’t sleep with is none of your business. You don’t own me!” Arya retorted angrily.

Sandor turned and stomped out of the house. He didn’t come back until the next morning. He’d slept out in the shed. Arya was sitting at the table. She looked up at him with hurt and disgust. She’d never been so insulted in all of her life and it was Sandor who had done it to her. That hurt more than anything.

Sandor knelt down in front of her on one knee. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Girl. I should never have said those things to you. I was out of line. I don’t blame you if you hate me. Please, Arya, give me another chance. I’ll never speak to you that way ever again.”

“Why did you say those things to me?”

He knew damn well why he’d said those things. He was horribly jealous but he knew he couldn’t tell her that. “I don’t know what came over me. I lost my temper.”

She pushed her chair back away from him and stood. She went over and stood beside the fireplace with her back turned towards him. She heard him get back up onto his feet.

“Do you really think less of me because I gave my maidenhead to Gendry?”

Sandor’s head snapped up. She’d given her maidenhead to Gendry? Did that mean he’d been the only one? Was Arya still as untouched as that? Oh Gods, he was such an arse for hoping it was true.

She continued. “How many women have you given yourself to?”

“None.” He answered harshly. “No woman would have me that I didn’t have to pay for.”

“Hmm, I wonder if it was your face or your charming personality that put them off.”

Arya heard the door slam as Sandor went out. She had tried to save his life and help him fight Gregor. She had cared for him all this time and had tried to help him get well. And this was what he thought of her the whole time. First, he had thought she might have been a . . . courtesan, then some sort of _loose_ woman. Did he really think she would run around granting _favors_ and _befriending_ all the men in the Reach? Arya went over to the bed and crawled under the covers and cried. Sandor was standing right outside the door and heard her.

He had ruined everything. His instinct was to run away from the mess he had made. He wanted nothing more than to run away and get drunk. He had some coin. He could buy a horse and be miles and miles away from here before sundown. He could keep going day after day and get further and further away from Arya.

She’d walked away from him once and never looked back. Why couldn’t he do the same? Yet, if he was honest with himself he knew he was not going to go anywhere. He needed her too much. He’d known it for a long time. He also knew there could be no future for them. The honorable thing would be to send her home to Winterfell but he wouldn’t. He was selfish and he couldn’t bear to be without her.

He opened the door and went back inside. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Arya moved over and he lay down beside her. “I didn’t mean anything I said. The reason you chose to be with Gendry is your own business. I don’t think any less of you. You probably loved him although I don’t understand why because he is a whinging little cunt but that’s beside the point. I don’t think you are the kind of girl that would go around giving out favors freely. I said those things because my feelings were hurt.”

Arya slowly uncovered her head. “How did I hurt _your_ feelings?”

“When I saw you sitting so close to that boy and smiling at him, I got angry because you’re supposed to be _my_ traveling companion and _my_ goodwife.”

Arya thought about what he said. She wasn’t sure what it meant. It sounded like he was jealous. She supposed it could be true. When her father would pay more attention to her brothers, she would get jealous. When her mother would scold her and praise Sansa, she would get jealous as well. It was all too obvious he wasn’t jealous because he liked her as a woman. He’d never once shown any indication that he felt that way. It made her wonder what was wrong with her and why he didn’t find her attractive. It was probably because she was Arya Horseface and on top of that, she was _manly_.

. . . . .

Arya was down at the stream strenuously scrubbing their clothes on a rock. She was cursing under her breath. Damn that Sandor Clegane. He had just made up with her less than a week ago and here he was making her mad all over again. She couldn’t believe how bossy he was. Somebody needed to put him in his place. Seven Hells, who did he think he was, telling her what to do? She was the Bringer of Dawn!

She threw down the big, oversized tunic she’d been scrubbing. She was hot and cranky. She stripped off her clothes and immersed herself in the cool water. She floated on the surface as her hair fanned out around her head. That’s how Sandor found her. She looked like a water nymph with her pale body submerged just below the surface with her dark tipped breasts bobbing above the water and pointing skyward. He knew he should leave but she hadn’t seen him yet and he was mesmerized. She looked like a fantasy come to life in the flesh. He finally forced himself to slip back into the trees as he tried to get hold of himself.

That night Arya was kept awake as Sandor tossed and turned. It was hot and she was having trouble sleeping herself. He grumbled and got up and went outside for awhile. He came back in and tossed and turned some more. Finally, she’d had enough. His back was turned to her so she put her hands on his shoulders to give him a little, light massage to calm his nerves. She could feel him tense up at first but she kept steadily working to soothe and relax him. He must not have hated it. She could hear him making little satisfied sighs of contentment.

The next night was the same except when she tried to touch him he leapt out of bed. “What’s wrong?” She asked.

“You need to stop touching me.”

“Why?”

“I saw you the other day washing clothes at the stream.”

“So?”

“Only you weren’t washing clothes.”

Arya was alarmed. “Did you see me while I was swimming?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Did you see me naked?” She squeaked.

“No, not completely. You were mostly under the water. I mainly saw your breasts.”

“Well, you didn’t do it on purpose, did you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t already seen them before. Just don’t do it again and everything will be fine.”

He sighed. “That’s the thing. I can’t seem to get it out of my mind.”

She turned over on her side to look at him in the pale light of the moon. “What do you mean?”

“You just shouldn’t touch me. Please don’t touch me.”

Arya was at a loss. What was wrong with him? “Sandor?”

He got up and went outside without another word.

. . . . .

The next day Sandor acted as if nothing had happened. Arya decided that men were way too complicated for her liking. About mid-morning she decided she was going into town for a few supplies. She picked up her basket and stopped to tell Sandor. He was shaving the bark off of some logs out in the yard and he just nodded his goodbye.

When Arya returned, Sandor was inside the house, sitting on the floor and threading rope though the notches in the new bedstead he had built. It was much smaller than the other bed. It wasn’t big enough for two people. She looked at Sandor. It wasn’t big enough for Sandor either. The bed was for her.

Arya turned away. She didn’t want Sandor to see her face. She could feel that it was hot and it was most likely red from embarrassment. He had kicked her out of bed! She was humiliated. She put the foodstuffs away and went outside and down to the creek. He could damn well make his own lunch. Who did he think he was! She was determined to not let him see how insulted she was. She would let him think she didn’t care one way or the other.

Eventually, she went back to the cottage and went about her chores like nothing was wrong. Sandor kept giving her little sideways glances. She didn’t even really understand what his problem was. Somehow her nakedness and her nearness and her touching him was a huge problem. She looked down at herself. Was she really that unappealing that he just couldn’t stand to be near her another second?

She got into her new bed that evening and ignored him completely when he told her goodnight. She held perfectly still and refused to let him know how unhappy he had made her. She didn’t fall asleep until sometime after midnight.

She awoke to her own voice shouting. She was thrashing all around and someone was restraining her. She fought all the harder until Sandor’s voice finally got through to her. She went limp in his arms as she realized that Sandor was holding her and that she'd had a nightmare. It was morning. He was trying to soothe her. Sandor was bent over her and was gently trying to get her to lie back down. Her nightshirt had bunched up. He took hold of it to pull it back down over her abdomen when she heard him exclaim.

She jerked to attention. Sandor was looking at her in horror. His big hand was gingerly touching the nasty scars on her stomach. “Girl, what happened to you?”

“Nothing!” She tried to push him away.

Sandor’s breath came out in great bursts. “Who did this to you, Arya!” He shouted.

“No one! No one did this.” She wasn’t lying. That is what they called themselves after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	14. What's Wrong with a Little Fun?

Sandor made breakfast and tea while Arya sat sullenly in the chair. She was wondering why he was treating her like some kind of invalid when her injuries had happened nearly two years ago. Absolutely none of it was any of his business and she wasn’t about to tell him a thing.

It was ridiculous the way Sandor kept near her the rest of the day. She could barely finish her chores without tripping over him. He kept trying to help her as if she wasn’t perfectly capable of handling things on her own. Gods, no wonder Sandor had wanted to get rid of her, was this how she’d been treating him? It was smothering.

“Arya.”

“Hmm?” Arya was preparing for bed.

“I want you to get into the bed with me.”

Arya paused. She couldn’t see him in the dark. “What for? I have my own bed now.” She answered sarcastically.

“What if you have another nightmare?”

“I suppose I will survive.”

Sandor tried to hover around her for a second day before she had to tell him in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t welcome. On the evening of the third day, Sandor sat beside the fire and began to whittle on a piece of wood.

“Read to me, Girl.”

“I’ve already read you all the stories in the book.”

“Then start over from the beginning.”

By the time she was tired of reading and closed the book, Sandor stood up and put the carving he’d made into her hand. It was a heart. She ran her thumb over it and since he’d sanded it smooth, it felt nice. She looked over him and he was watching her.

“Tell me your story, Arya.”

“You’re not going to like this story, Sandor.” Then she told him. She told him about Jaqen, the iron coin and traveling to Braavos. She advised him about the Temple of Black and White and how people came there for the gift of death. She explained the ideology of the Many-Faced God. She apprised him of how she had joined them and become an acolyte in the Temple.

She told him of learning many things; how to cook, how to give massage and how to disguise herself and walk on silent cat feet. She had learned all about the manufacture and use of poisons but mostly she had just learned how to fight. She’d fought until she was black and blue and bloody and then she’d get up and do it all over again the next day and the next day and the next until she was a fine-tuned killing machine.

She told him how she was beaten if she was too slow or too stubborn or if she asked too many questions. She explained how she was supposed to give up her own identity, how she was supposed to give up her own past and devote her future to serving the Many-Faced God.

She was supposed to give up her list and her vengeance and most of all she was no longer to be Arya Stark of Winterfell. She was to become a shadow, an instrument to be used in the service of the Many-Faced God to give the gift of death. She was to be a nobody and a no one. Arya finally wound down her narrative and fell into a heavy silence.

Sandor finally broke the stillness. “You joined this elite group and became one of them? You did their bidding?”

“You believe me to be an assassin? Giving the gift of death for a price? A Faceless Man?”

Sandor continued to look at her steadily. “Are you telling me you didn't become a Faceless Man?”

“I couldn’t do their bidding but I did use what I learned from them to satisfy my need for vengeance.”

“So, you used what you learned and killed Walder Frey and disposed of most of his House.”

“You knew it was me?”

“Of course, I knew it was you. It had to be you. I heard the rumors of the massacre of House Frey while I was at Winterfell. Everyone was talking about it. They said the killer was a small, young woman with dark hair and she said the North remembers and winter came for House Frey. Who else could it have been but you? I just didn’t understand the part about removing the mask of Old Walder. The Faceless Men were mentioned but I couldn’t equate you with them at the time. Although, when you told me you killed Meryn Trant in Braavos and you had joined an elite group there it all made sense.”

“You knew all this time and you never said anything?” Arya asked incredulously. “Weren’t you disgusted and terrified?”

“No, nothing you could ever do would disgust me. You forget, I know some of things you have endured during your short life. I understood your anger.”

“I baked Lothar and Black Walder into a pie and fed it to Old Walder.” She confessed. “Oh, Sandor, I can’t believe I was so far gone. I thought I’d lost everyone I ever loved. I thought there was nothing left but vengeance and death.” Her eyes sought his for the condemnation she was sure she would find there.

Sandor shocked Arya when he smiled. “Yes, well, I’d prefer it you didn’t bake anymore pies like that.” He cleared his throat. “Your plum pies are more to my taste.”

“Oh, Sandor.” Arya murmured shakily. She was glad she had told him. She had been so afraid that she would lose his respect and he would reject her.

“You still didn’t tell me how you were stabbed.”

“I had to pass the final test before I became no one. I was supposed to fulfill a death contract. I found I couldn’t kill someone who I didn’t believe deserved it. Since I failed, they sent the Waif to kill me.” She paused. “She stabbed me but I got away. She tried again later but she wasn’t successful.” Arya’s eyes glinted with anger. “I went back to the Temple for Needle. I took some faces and some coin and I confronted Jaqen. He tried to tell me I was finally no one. I told him I was not no one, I knew exactly who I was.”

Sandor raised his eyebrow. “Arya Stark of Winterfell?”

She nodded. “Then I told him I was going home.”

“They let you go, just like that?”

“The Many-Faced God was promised a death and I gave him a death. That part was balanced. I’m not really sure about why they didn’t come after me for the rest. I suspect it has something to do with my becoming the Bringer of Dawn.”

Sandor took Arya’s hand and maneuvered her onto his lap. He tucked her head under his chin and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m so sorry I failed you, Arya. It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not, Sandor. I did blame you. I was angry with you for a very long time because I thought you'd let me down. I believed you had died and left me alone. I was wrong to blame you. I think it was meant to be. If I hadn’t gone through all of that and got as strong as I did, I wouldn’t have been able to fulfill my destiny and kill the Night King.”

. . . . .

The new Lord Paramount of the Reach, Lord Bronn, was in Oldtown visiting House Hightower. Ever since he’d been named Lord of Highgarden and Lord Paramount, he couldn’t wait to travel about and survey all he held sway over. This was the first chance he’d had to undertake a trip to acquaint himself with some of the Houses that owed fealty to him. His good friend and sometimes enemy, Lord Jaime Lannister, was with him. Jaime kept telling him they needed to go visit the Three Towers and House Costayne.

“Why should we go clear out of our way over there? The House is a minor one. Is it really worth the effort to go there?" Bronn complained.

“Well, there’s a certain friend of ours over there I’d like to visit.”

“Who?”

“Sandor Clegane.”

“You want to go way over there to see that mangy old dog?”

“The truth is, I also want to see a certain young lady that may be with him.”

“Ah, a young lady! Now you’re talking! Who is this young lady? A beauty no doubt!”

“She's more than that.”

“She’s more than just a beauty? Who is this extraordinary girl of whom you speak?” He teased.

“She has many names but the one you may be most familiar with is the Bringer of Dawn.” Jaime laughed at the stunned look on Bronn’s face.

Lord Tommen Costayne received a shock as the new Lord Paramount and Lord Jaime Lannister rode up for an unannounced visit. Had they never heard of sending a raven? Lord Tommen scrambled to have a welcome feast prepared for his thoughtless guests.

“Lord Tommen, we are looking for a friend of ours that may have moved to this area recently. His name is Clegane.” Lord Bronn broached the subject during the feast that evening.

Lord Jaime quickly stepped in. He suspected Sandor and Arya might be living under assumed names and did not want to spoil their situation. “Our friend is extremely tall and has a scarred face.”

Lord Tommen racked his brains but couldn’t think of anyone that fit that description. He called his steward over to the High Table.

“A very tall man with a scarred face?” The steward repeated. “Oh, you mean Ned Brandywine? He’s an excellent worker and a fine honest fellow.”

Bronn and Jaime looked at each other in surprise. “I’m not sure we’re talking about the same man.” Bronn said in confusion.

“He might be accompanied by a short, dark-haired girl.” Jaime clarified.

“Oh, yes. That’s Ned Brandywine and his wife, Cat.”

Jaime and Bronn looked at each other again. “That’s them.” Jaime affirmed while trying to suppress a smile.

The next afternoon Sandor was working outdoors when he spotted a contingent of mounted men headed for the cottage. They were finely dressed and carrying a sigil. He poked his head in the door to warn Arya. He recognized Jaime as they got closer and then Bronn removed his hat with a flourish. They dismounted and Jaime shook Sandor’s hand.

Bronn looked over the cottage. “Well, Clegane, to tell the truth, I find you living out here on a farm most surprising. I thought with an eye patch like that you might have been seriously tempted to become a pirate.”

Sandor made a face. "Really, that's the best joke you could come up with?"

“Pretty much. Where’s the little lady? I hear you’ve taken a bride.” Bronn teased as his eyes twinkled.

Arya stepped out onto the doorstep. Bronn took in her well-tailored men’s attire and stepped up close to her. He looked down on her and grinned. “I’m Lord Bronn of Highgarden and a bunch of other boring titles. I’ve heard so much about you, I expected you to be ten feet tall and more strongly built than Clegane. You’re just a slip of a girl.”

“I may be just a slip of a girl but it’s by my grace that you’re still alive and kicking right now.” Arya retorted.

Bronn looked flummoxed and then he laughed. “I like you.” He smiled cheekily. Arya couldn’t help smiling back at him.

Arya invited Jaime and Bronn inside away from the listening ears of his men. She poured them all some ale. Sandor was extremely thankful that there were two beds in the cottage. It would have been very hard to explain if there had not been. It already looked bad enough that he and Arya had been posing as husband and wife.

Jaime related all the news about Sansa and Bran to Arya. Sansa had been named the Queen in the North by her subjects. Arya had already heard about it. He also informed Sandor that King Bran had bestowed some lands that adjoined Clegane Keep to Sandor and that he was now a Lord in reward for services to House Stark in the Battle of Winterfell. Arya was very touched but didn’t comment as Lord Sandor was scowling something fierce.

It was obvious by the way the Bronn kept staring at Arya that he was smitten. He told her he was a renowned sellsword before he’d obtained all of his titles. He couldn’t help touching the sword at his side fondly as he spoke. Although, Bronn’s bragging and coarse manners might have put off another highborn lady, Arya found him refreshingly genuine. She also recognized a real fighter when she saw one.

Sandor didn’t like the way Arya and Bronn were looking at each other. While Jaime was speaking to him, both Bronn and Arya stood and went outside. Sandor and Jaime looked at each other in surprise and then followed them outdoors into the yard.

Bronn unsheathed his sword and Arya did the same. Bronn’s men immediately took notice and moved to protect their Lord. Bronn waved them off and informed them there was nothing to worry about, he and the lady were about to have a little fun. Sandor was incensed but he knew better than to get in a fighter’s way when they needed their concentration.

Bronn surprised Arya. His fighting style included speed and agility. He would dodge strikes instead of blocking them. Arya’s style was similar to his. She didn’t have the upper body strength of most men so she'd had to adapt. Most of the time it worked well against her opponent. This was not one of those times.

Bronn tried to distract her. “Hey there, my fine beauty, if I win, how’s about a little kiss?”

“I’ll kiss you with the pommel of my Needle and bust your lip for you.” Arya did some nimble footwork to quickly sidestep the thrust from Bronn’s sword.

Arya feinted but Bronn wasn’t fooled and spun away. Arya and Sandor hadn’t sparred much since his recovery. She was realizing her mistake as she was beginning to breathe heavily and Bronn wasn’t even winded. She’d never live down the embarrassment if Bronn beat her.

Eventually, Bronn did a leg sweep and took Arya down to the ground. He moved in overconfidently to claim his victory when Arya sprang up onto her feet from a prone position in a way that looked as if the laws of physics didn’t apply to her. She crowded in close very quickly and pressed her catspaw dagger to Bronn’s gut.

He bowed and ceded the match to her very gracefully. They went back indoors and Bronn asked to see the catspaw dagger. “Did you kill the Night King with this, Lady Arya?” Arya nodded and he continued to smile at her like a besotted fool. Sandor wanted to throttle him.

Bronn invited them to join them for dinner at House Costayne but they declined. He then invited them to dinner at the inn in Main Town instead and to Sandor’s chagrin, Arya accepted. Jaime and Bronn left after promising to meet them later that evening.

“Are you mad, Girl? We are supposed to be simple folk, working and making our way out here amongst the farmers. How’s it going to look if we go have dinner with the Golden Boy Jaime Lannister and the fucking Lord Paramount of the Reach?”

“Shut up. You never take me anywhere and we never do anything. I’m tired of cooking and I’d like to go to the inn for dinner.”

“I realize you are still young so I’m going to tell you that Bronn of the Blackwater is a rogue. He is a whoremonger and would sell his best friend for coin. He is a blackguard and a killer. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could fucking throw him.”

“That all may be true but he’s not a stick in the mud like some people I know and I bet he knows how to have a little fun!”

Sandor stomped out the door. When it was time to leave for the inn, he went back into the cottage to get Arya. He was shocked to discover that she was wearing her dress. “Don’t tell me, are you in disguise again and pretending to be a woman?”

Arya not only danced with Bronn, she danced with all of his men and a couple of the locals. She tried to get Sandor to dance but he point blank refused. Sandor was talking to Jaime but he was getting more and more upset and couldn’t stop himself from frequently looking at Arya as she enjoyed herself.

“What are you doing down here?” Jaime asked.

“What do you mean? You’re the one who told us we should come here instead of Oldtown.” Sandor responded.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Uh, well, Arya’s been nursing me back to health.”

“Apparently, she’s done a good job because you seem to be perfectly fit.”

“Yes, it took awhile but I’m much better now.”

“Let me rephrase the question. What are you doing down here in the Reach with Arya now that you’ve recovered?”

Sandor was taken aback. Was Jaime questioning his intentions with Arya? “There is nothing going on between Arya and myself if that’s what you mean.” Sandor said firmly.

Jaime heard what Clegane said but he couldn’t help but notice how often his eye was drawn back to Arya over and over again.

. . . . . 

Jaime and Bronn were stumbling back to the castle as they were both somewhat drunk. “Do you think they’re sleeping together?” Bronn asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I don’t think they are. They have separate beds.”

“You do realize they’ve been living together in a one room house.”

“I grant you it is odd. What do you think it means?”

“I’m not sure if they’re sleeping together but I think they’re together.”

“I like her. She enjoys fighting and dancing. Having the Bringer of Dawn as a wife would be a fine feather in my cap.”

Jaime laughed. “Are you serious? I think Clegane would kill you if he knew you were even thinking about it.” He laughed again. “And even if he didn’t, she might kill you herself if you made her mad enough, which knowing you like I do, is more likely to happen than not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	15. Trouble

They walked home from the inn. Arya could tell Sandor was in a terrible mood. She wasn’t sure what had set him off. She suspected he felt like he was left out of all the excitement but that was by his own choice. Bronn had gifted Sandor a bottle of Arbor Gold as they were leaving. They’d brought it home with them and she poured Sandor and herself a cup. If fine wine couldn’t cheer him up, she wasn’t sure what would. He relaxed a little after the wine. She wondered if she could cheer him up a little more.

She twirled around the room. “Oh, Lord Sandor, I can’t believe a gentleman such as yourself deprived me of your excellent company on the dance floor. I have had my poor feet trodden on more than a fine lady such as myself should ever have to bear. If only I wasn’t saddled with such oafs and could have had an agile man such as yourself for a dance partner.” She batted her eyelashes.

Sandor sat down on the edge of his bed. He looked up at Arya and grinned wickedly. “Oh, Lady Arya! How could you say such a thing? l, Lord Bronn, am the greatest swordsman and dancer throughout all of Westeros! We are a divine match! You are the most graceful dancer! You are truly delicate and all that is lovely! If only we had such ladies as you in Highgarden!”

Arya, not to be outdone, suddenly sat down upon his lap and threw her hand to her brow. “Oh, Lord Bronn, you overwhelm me with such sincere compliments!” She then threw one arm around Sandor’s neck and motioned with her other hand, “You have won me with your honeyed words and humble manners. You may kiss me now!”

They were grinning like fools at each other and Sandor leaned in and gave Arya a resoundingly loud smack on the lips. He pulled back a few inches to look at her. His smile slipped away. The smile slid from Arya’s face as well.

Sandor slowly leaned back towards her lips and gave her another kiss. This kiss was soft and gentle. He pulled away again and looked at her with an almost fearful look on his face. Instinctively, Arya leaned in and brushed her lips back against his. She pulled back and looked at him questioningly.

He swiftly sought her mouth again and began to kiss her carefully as if she might break. Arya clutched at his shoulders and then slid her hands around the back of his neck and into his hair. Arya teased his lips open with little kisses and with the gentle persuasion of her tongue. Sandor surrendered and Arya slipped her tongue inside his mouth.

The moment she touched his tongue with her own Sandor moaned and pulled her abruptly to his chest. At first his kisses were sloppy. Arya understood from her life in Braavos that courtesans usually did not wish to kiss their customers so she surmised that Sandor did not have much experience with kissing. She decided to try to teach him. She kissed him the way she wanted to be kissed. He picked up on it pretty quickly. In no time at all he was kissing her slowly with lots and lots of tongue just like she wanted.

She removed one hand from his hair and softly trailed her fingers over his warm skin. She raked her nails gently over him and he responded with another low moan as he began to kiss her more aggressively. She was well aware of how strong he was. He could overpower her without a second thought but she knew he wouldn’t. She trusted him implicitly.

She pulled her mouth free from his and began to kiss and nip at his jaw and neck. She rolled her tongue over his salty, rough stubble to soothe the little love bites. Sandor’s head lolled back and jagged little breaths escaped his lips as little whines escaped from his throat. It didn’t take long before he wasn’t satisfied until Arya exposed her neck for him to ravish just as she’d taught him.

Arya was the one feeling the heat building inside of her now. She must have let him know somehow because he increased his ministrations and his long fingers left her arm and found her breast. He touched her tentatively as if he expected her to reject him at any moment but that was the furthest thing from Arya’s mind.

The sounds she was making made him grow more confident. His hand explored her breast as his fingers lightly brushed over her sensitive tit and teased it until it responded beautifully to his touch. Her dress was soft and he enjoyed feeling her body through it but he would have much rather preferred to touch her supple, delicate skin. He recalled how enticing she appeared while floating in the creek. He visualized her voluptuous, rounded breasts and her dark nipples and how aroused she’d made him. He longed to suckle her with his mouth and lave her stiff peaks with his tongue. He gently continued to fondle her until Arya called his name. He brought his mouth back to hers and sensually tongued her until she was panting from want. She said his name in between kisses.

Sandor liked to hear his name on her lips. Every time she said it he would reward her. Although he had an urge to put her on her back and roughly have his way with her, he was going to take his time and listen to what pleased her because he wanted nothing more than to give her what she desired. He wanted to hear her soft sighs and stuttering breaths.

He knew it was wrong. He had no business touching her whatsoever. But she felt so good. She was so good. She was so good to him. She meant everything to him. He was a man and he had needs. He wanted to couple with her over and over again. He wanted to see her shiver and moan. He wanted her to open her legs wide for him and crave his touch. He wanted to see her writhe and throw back her head as she cried out.

He also knew as a man he was responsible for her protection. He didn’t want to bring her shame. She trusted him. He knew she did. He couldn’t do it. She trusted him and he couldn’t be so selfish as to hurt her in this way. He couldn’t take what didn’t belong to him. He was not good enough for her. She was not his goodwife and she never would be.

He pulled away from her and lifted her off of his lap. “I’m sorry, Arya. I can’t . . . we can’t do this.”

Arya sat beside him on the bed. She didn’t understand. “But Sandor . . .”

He got up and moved away from her so he wouldn’t be tempted. “It’s not right. You must save yourself for your husband.”

Arya choked out a desperate laugh. “My husband? Save myself? Didn’t we already establish there’s nothing left for me to save?”

“Just because Gendry was willing to compromise you doesn’t mean that I am. It’s wrong.”

“What’s so wrong about it?”

"Do you not understand what people think of me, Girl? I’m the Lannister dog. I’ve made a terrible name for myself. Everyone knows the awful things I’ve done. No one is about to forget it.”

“Sandor . . .”

“Listen to me, Girl. No man will have you if they even think for one second there was even the remotest possibility you have been with me.”

“What?” His words cut like a knife. Why did he keep talking about some future husband? Didn’t he know she only wanted him? Why did he kiss her if he didn’t want her?

“This was a really bad mistake, nothing more. I’m sorry.” He slipped out the door and went outside.

. . . . .

Arya awoke the next morning to the smell of sausage and eggs sizzling in the frying pan. She kept her eyes closed. She was too embarrassed about last night to get up. He had said it was a mistake. That meant he regretted what had happened. That he didn’t want her. That he didn’t feel that way about her. She didn’t even know how long he had stayed outside or even where he went.

Eventually, she had crawled back into her own bed in shame and went to sleep. Why did he start it if it wasn’t what he wanted? Did he just want to see how far she would go? Did he want to humiliate her? He had better not say he was drunk. She had watched how much he drank last night and he was most definitely not drunk. 

Sandor gently shook her foot to wake her. “Breakfast is ready.”

Arya got up and washed her hands and face and combed her hair. She sat down at the table with Sandor. She resolved not to say a single word. She’d done nothing wrong. The feelings she had for him were real. She would not let him know how much it hurt her that he didn’t feel the same. They ate in silence. Finally, Sandor began to mention the weather but she was finished eating by then so she just got up from the table, picked up her clothes and weapons and went down to the creek to have a swim.

After she swam, Arya didn’t bother going back in to tell Sandor where she was going; she just left and walked to Main Town. She spent the day walking around the paths on top of the cliffs and looking out to sea. Eventually, she climbed down all the steps to spend some time on the beach below. She went home late in the afternoon just before dinner.

The wind had picked up and a storm front looked to be moving in. She saw Sandor sitting out in front of the cottage in the hard wind watching the road for her. She just walked past him like he wasn’t there and went inside. There was stew cooking on the fire and the house had been cleaned and swept. The beds had been made. He was really trying to kiss up to her now. If he thought a little bit of cooking and housework would make up for what had happened, he was sadly mistaken.

She sat at the table and he came in with the wind behind him. He got out the bowls and began ladling the stew into them.

“I bet you’re starved. You missed lunch.” He said as he sat down.

“No, I had lunch.”

He stopped buttering his bread and stared at her. “Where did you have lunch?”

“What do you care?”

He set the bread and knife down and silently got up and went back outside. _This is stupid._ Arya thought. Why is he being so sensitive? He’s the one who had hurt her.

She got up and opened the door. “Come in and have your dinner, it’s getting cold.”

He continued to sit, staring off into the darkening skies.

She walked out into the cold wind and stood beside his chair. “Come on, now.” She said gently.

He followed her back in and they sat down to eat once again. They had gotten through most of the meal in silence.

“How were Jaime and _Lord_ Bronn?” Sandor asked suddenly.

“How should I know?”

“You didn’t see them?”

“No.”

“Why do you suppose Jaime wanted to come here?” Sandor asked.

“He came along with Bronn to visit the Costayne’s.”

Sandor rubbed his face. “Is that what you think?”

“What do you mean?”

He wouldn’t say anything else. She couldn’t understand him. She cleaned up the dinner dishes. Sandor lit the lantern as the storm crashed overhead. She turned to look at him sitting quietly at the table in deep thought with a concerned look on his face.

Why was he bothering to pretend he cared? When she was finished she sat down at the table with him. She should be cleaning and sharpening her Needle and her blades but she was tired. “Are we going to talk about last night?” She asked.

“No.”

“Oh, so we only talk about things you want to talk about?”

“I already said I was sorry.” He continued to brood silently.

“Never mind.” She stood up suddenly, “I’m going to bed.” She started to walk away but he jumped up and grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away but he was stronger. He made her feel weak and not just in the physical sense.

“Arya, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Do you think you can hurt me? You can’t hurt me. You presume too much!” She retorted angrily.

“Someone like you should be cloaked properly in a Sept or under the Heart tree before the Old Gods with honor and respect.”

“Why? Because I’m a Lady?” She scoffed.

“No, because there is no one better than you. You deserve the world.”

Arya stared at Sandor in shock.

“I may be an old, scarred dog but no one can say I defiled you. No one can say I forced myself on you or that I took advantage of your fear or your sadness or your pain or that I ever laid a hand on you.”

Arya couldn’t believe his audacity. “Let me see if I have this right. You could kidnap me, tie me up, threaten me, drag me around, hit me over the head, argue with me, knock me to the ground, boss me around and tell me what to do and all of that was fine?”

“Well, of course it was. That was all for your own good.” He smiled sadly.

“The way you rejected me last night, was that for my own good too?”

Sandor hung his head. “It won’t happen again.” He sat back down in his chair and was resolutely silent.

Arya lay down on her bed. She was astounded by what he had just revealed. _Sandor Clegane was an honorable man._

. . . . .

Early the next morning, Arya went outside to the hen house for some eggs. She was startled to see Eric Smothers standing in the semi-darkness beside a tree. “Eric, what are you doing here?” She asked in surprise.

“I’m here to warn you. Trouble will be here very shortly.”

“What!”

“There’s a group of men coming to run you and your man out of the area.”

“What for?” She hissed.

"They have found out he’s not really Ned Brandywine. He’s the Hound; the dirty, Lannister dog. They don’t want scum like him around here. You’re not really his wife, are you?”

“Thanks for warning me, Eric. I have to go now.”

Arya fled into the cottage and woke Sandor. He jumped up quickly and armed himself not a moment too soon. There was a thud on the side of the house and then another. Soon, rocks of various sizes were pelting the house like hailstones in a thunderstorm.

“Sandor, you don’t think they’ll set the cottage on fire, do you?” Arya whispered with Needle clutched in her hand.

The sound of the rocks hitting the cottage slowly subsided. “Hey, you inside the house!" Someone yelled.

Sandor cracked the door open. “What do you want?” 

“We don’t want your kind here! If you know what’s good for you, you’d better be gone by sundown.”

Arya couldn’t see over Sandor’s shoulder so she squeezed under his arm for a look. There were at least twenty men outside. Some were holding sharp farm implements and some where holding burning torches. It was still semi-dark and eerie shadows played over their faces.

“You should all be ashamed of yourselves!” Arya yelled before Sandor could stop her. “Sandor’s been nothing if not a good neighbor to every one of you!”

“Arya!”

“We can take them, Sandor.”

Sandor looked down on her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Wolf Girl. There’s no point. Even if we killed them all, the rest of the community wouldn’t let us remain here. We’re going to have to do as they say. At least they’re giving us a chance to leave in peace.”

“Listen up, you men.” Sandor yelled. “We’ll leave by sundown but if any of you try to interfere with us in any way, I will personally see to it that every last one of you regret it. And since you know who I am, I’m sure you know I mean it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	16. On the Road Again

Sandor and Arya gathered up all the belongings they could carry. Arya fed all the little figurines Sandor had carved for her into the fire. She had no room to carry them and she wanted no one else to have them. Sandor didn’t say anything. She had slipped one of the carvings he’d made for her deep down into her pocket while he wasn’t looking. She wasn’t about to discard the heart he'd given her.

Sandor looked over his shoulder one last time at the little cottage in the thicket of trees. He’d known a measure of peace before with Brother Ray but it had not compared to what he’d had here with Arya. Once he had recovered from his fight with Gregor, he’d been able for the first time in his life to relax and enjoy even the simplest of things. He’d liked taking care of the goats and chickens. He’d even been thinking about getting a dog. He’d enjoyed working outdoors and making things with his hands. It had given him a sense of accomplishment that he hadn’t realized he’d needed.

Then there was Arya. Having her by his side filled the loneliness down deep inside of him. He looked at her shining dark hair and Northern grey eyes and was so thankful that he’d been able to have this time with her. He didn’t know what he’d ever done to deserve someone as special as her. He could live without a home but he couldn’t live without her. He only hoped he could hold onto her just a little bit longer. He wondered how long it would be before he lost her too.

Arya was pretty angry. Who did these farmers think they were? How could they have treated Sandor this way? He’d never been anything but a model citizen here. He worked hard and caused no trouble. He’d helped his neighbors as they’d helped him. He’d even invited some of them to his table and shared with them what bounty he’d had.

The worst thing was that it was her fault that they lost their home and the idyllic life they’d shared. She had insisted they dine at the inn with Jaime and Lord Bronn. Sandor had tried to warn her that they were supposed to be humble, simple folk and dining with a couple of Lords would stir up questions. He had been right. Someone put two and two together when they saw Sandor and Jaime sharing a drink together and had figured out Sandor’s identity. She sighed loudly.

They walked to Main Town and Sandor asked the hostler at the inn if there were any horses for sale. The hostler had given them both a dismissive look and told them that there were no horses available. Sandor was pretty certain he’d meant that there were no horses available for sale to the Hound.

"Will our animals be cared for at least?" Arya asked.

The hostler gave her a curt nod. They walked back behind the stable.

“Let’s just go see Lord Bronn . . .”

Sandor snorted. “I’m not asking him for anything.”

“Alright, let’s talk to Jaime and see if he can help us secure a couple of horses.”

“Do you think I can’t look after you? I’m not injured anymore. I’m strong and able.”

Arya looked at Sandor’s scowling, scarred face. She hadn’t meant to insult him. She reached out and grasped his arms. “We will look after each other.”

Sandor saw how she was looking up at him with her fierce, beautiful face. No woman had ever looked at him before like she was looking at him right now. Before he was aware of what he was doing, he took hold of her arms and leaned down and kissed her.

Jaime and Bronn and all of Bronn’s men rode up a few minutes later with a great clanking of armor and weaponry. Sandor and Arya stepped out from behind the stable.

Bronn called down from his destrier. “Oh, there you are. We were just coming to get you. We heard about your . . . troubles.”

Sandor swore under his breath. That’s the last thing he wanted Bronn to hear about. It was humiliating.

Jaime nodded to Arya. “Good morning, fine lady. I hope you are well. I say, these people of the Reach are not very friendly. The people of the Westerlands are far superior. They are some of the best people you could ever meet.”

“Hey!” Bronn protested. “My people are not totally . . . shite.”

Jaime ignored him. “Lord Bronn and I are on our way to Casterly Rock. Why don’t you and Lord Sandor come along for a visit?”

“I don’t think so.” Sandor answered.

“Suit yourself. I just thought it might be prudent to take the lady far away from here quickly before someone figures out who she is.” Jaime gave Sandor a warning look.

Sandor turned to look at Arya. Then he looked back at Jaime. “Perhaps we will travel with you for a little while.”

“Excellent!” Bronn exclaimed. Lord Tommen Costayne sends his apologies along with two fine horses for the both of you.” Bronn laughed. “Well, he did after I explained how displeased I would be if he didn’t.”

Bronn wasn’t lying, the horses were very fine. Bronn had even picked a tall, strong horse to accommodate Sandor’s size. The problem was Sandor and Arya hadn’t ridden for a very long time and they both were stiff and saddle sore. Jaime gave her his tent and told her he would bunk with Bronn in his. He looked at Sandor questioningly.

“I’ll sleep outside Arya’s tent to keep an eye on her.” Sandor mumbled.

After everyone had turned in, Arya stepped outside the tent flap. “Psst! Sandor, wake up.” She prodded him with her boot.

“What is it, Girl?” Sandor grumbled.

“Get in here.” She whispered.

He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t answer him. She just went back inside. Sandor cursed as he got up to follow her.

“Well?” He said.

“I need something for my thighs. They’re chafed.”

“You woke me up for that? Toughen up, Girl! You’ve grown soft.”

“Fine, don’t help me.” She threw a cup at his head. He quickly ducked out of the way. He looked at her as if she were crazy. He shook his head and stomped off.

Sandor came back about ten minutes later and stormed into Arya’s tent. Arya was lying on the cot. He tossed a wrapped linen cloth of salve next to her. He saw that she had changed into her nightshirt. He was about to leave when she began pulling the bottom of the nightshirt up her legs. Sandor became rooted to the spot.

Arya continued to pull up the nightshirt until her reddened thighs were exposed. Sandor tore his eye from her legs and looked at her face. “Girl?” He said shakily.

Arya leaned back on her elbows. “A conscientious traveling companion would see to my injury.”

Sandor gulped. “What do you mean, Girl?”

Arya eyes traveled from him to the bundle of salve and then back to him again.

“For goodness sake, Girl, can’t you do anything for yourself?” He huffed as he picked up the bundle and untied it. He tried to control his breathing. “What would you have me do for you?” His voice was low and husky.

Arya smirked. “Why, rub it on me, of course.”

Sandor stared at her for about half a second before he dropped down to his knees and put his fingers into the strong smelling balm. He very gently touched her inner thigh. Arya closed her eyes and tipped her head back. A bead of sweat rolled down Sandor’s temple. He added some more of the thick balm to his fingers and slowly and carefully massaged it into her ever so soft skin. When he’d used it all up, he stopped as he tried to get control of himself. His heart was hammering in his chest.

Arya sat up and pulled her nightshirt back down over her legs. “Mmm, that feels so much better, Sandor. Thank you. You can go now.”

Sandor got to his feet stupidly and stared down at her. He licked his lips more than once. He realized she had teased him but for some reason he didn’t even care. She’d let him touch her thighs. “Good night, Arya.” He said quietly as he turned and left the tent.

. . . . .

They’d stopped at Oldtown which was a beautiful city. It was much nicer than King’s Landing. The Starry Sept was particularly awe-inspiring with its grand arched windows. It was now once again the headquarters for the Faith of the Seven since the Great Sept of Baelor had been destroyed.

The Citadel was a complex of buildings linked with graceful bridges on both banks of the River Honeywine. It was the center of knowledge and learning in Westeros and the home of the Order of Maesters. Arya thought of her own Maester Luwin and Jon’s friend, Samwell Tarly, who had become Grand Maester and now served her brother, Bran. She would have liked to have gotten her hands on some of those books that were held hostage inside.

Arya’s favorite place by far in Oldtown was the Hightower. It was an impressive 800 foot seven-sided lighthouse on Battle Isle. It was the tallest structure in all of Westeros and purportedly built by Bran the Builder, the founder of House Stark. It was the home of House Hightower and appropriately, their sigil was a white tower and their words were, “We Light the Way”.

Bronn pointed it out proudly to Arya and Sandor but they did not visit House Hightower and moved on after a day of sightseeing to take the Roseroad northeast towards Highgarden. Lord Bronn delighted in showing off the Reach to Arya. Although Arya rode next to Sandor most of the time, Bronn was forever trying to edge Sandor out of the way. Arya humored Bronn most of the time. She actually liked his bragging. He made her laugh. Sandor was not amused. He was getting pretty fed up with Bronn and his big mouth.

Sandor continued to sleep on the ground outside Arya’s tent for propriety’s sake and he was disappointed that he had not been invited back inside. He also felt he had to watch himself because Jaime was keeping an eye on him. Apparently, Jaime had appointed himself guardian of Arya’s virtue. Between Bronn, Jaime and Bronn’s soldiers, Sandor had virtually no time alone with Arya at all.

They had been traveling quite awhile and were nearing Highgarden. Arya and Bronn were sparring like they did practically every day. Bronn would win occasionally but not as often as he would have liked. He enjoyed their verbal sparring as much or even better than their actual sparring. Bronn glanced over as Clegane watched them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Clegane. He just wanted him to get lost. He didn’t like the way Arya would look all soft and tender at the old dog sometimes. She wouldn’t hear one word against him either. Even in jest. He’d found that out the hard way.

Bronn finally got the better of Arya and used his knee to hold her down as he pulled Needle from her hand. Arya started cursing up a storm. Bronn laughed and threw her catspaw dagger away as well. Arya thrashed around and called him some other choice names.

“Where did a fine highborn girl like you learn such language?” Bronn laughed. He flipped Arya across his knee. “I think you need a spanking.”

Before Bronn knew what was happening, Sandor was on him in a flash and punched him in the jaw and sent him flying backwards. Arya tumbled off his knee and went rolling in the dirt.

“You will keep your hands to yourself!” Sandor roared as he stood over Bronn. “Get up! If you want to fight so much, fill your hand, you son of a bitch!” Sandor unsheathed his long sword.

Bronn sat up and rubbed his jaw. Bronn’s soldiers crowded around with their swords drawn but didn’t act. They waited from a signal from their Lord because they had thought Bronn and Sandor were friends of a sort. Although, they weren’t looking at each other in a very friendly manner at the moment.

Arya scrambled out of the way as Bronn stood and tipped his sword towards Sandor. “Let’s go.”

Sandor and Bronn started to fight aggressively. It was no sparring match. Sandor was much taller and muscular than Bronn but Bronn was more wiry and agile. Their swords clanged together occasionally as they each circled each other and searched for an advantage while using feints and footwork. Bronn suddenly directed a blow to Sandor’s right leg but Sandor quickly parried by dropping his sword downward and braced with enough space to absorb the impact of the blow with his sword.

Sandor stepped in and prepared to deliver a full force overhead attack with speed and intent. Bronn parried the attack with the forte of his sword.

Without missing a beat, Sandor followed up with what looked like the same attack, however, while keeping Bronn in his peripheral vision, he sidestepped out of the way of any counterattack and thrust with one hand, suddenly dropping the flat of his sword against Bronn’s foremost leg.

“Oof!” Bronn exclaimed.

Sandor attacked again from the right and Bronn parried by swinging his arm across his body. Bronn began to use footwork as he slipped and ducked Sandor’s attacks. His strategy was to tire Sandor out. He was also trying to get Sandor turned so the sun was in his eyes but Sandor was far too experienced for that old trick.

“What is your problem, anyway?” Bronn huffed.

“You are too familiar with Arya. You don’t know your place!”

Bronn feinted but Sandor didn’t fall for it.

“What are you, her father?” Bronn mocked.

Sandor grimaced. “No, but I’m watching out for her.”

“Is that what you call it when you can’t take your eyes off of her for more than one second?”

Sandor directed a low thrust to the left side of Bronn’s body but Bronn parried it by turning his wrist so that it faced outwards and swept the thrust aside.

“Of course, I can’t take my eyes off her for one second when you’re sniffing around.” Sandor complained.

“Me sniffing around? You’re the dog!” Bronn laughed and lowered his sword.

Sandor scowled. “You’re an idiot.” He lowered his sword as well.

Sandor looked over at Arya and saw that her lips were pressed tightly together in a thin line. Fuck! He’d forgotten about her while he’d been fighting. Her eyes flashed angrily over him. He could have sworn he saw little sparks lighting her up from within.

Arya flounced off without a word and went over and sat with Jaime. He’d wisely stayed out of the whole thing. Arya ignored her two swains the rest of the evening. She was waiting until their camp quieted for the night before she gave Sandor what he had coming.

. . . . .

Sandor awoke with a not so gentle kick to his side. He leapt up to face his attacker but Arya had jumped back out of the way. “Damn it, Girl! What did you do that for?”

“Get in here” Arya hissed as she motioned for him to follow her into her tent.

“What is it? Do you need some more salve for your thighs?” He smirked.

“No, but you might need some healing balm before I’m through with you.” She snapped.

Sandor’s smile disappeared. “Are you threatening me, Wolf Girl?”

“You got that right, you . . . you . . .”

Sandor bent down until he was level with Arya’s face. “Spit it out, Girl, and make it good.”

“You big dumb oaf! What in the Seven Hells is wrong with you! I didn’t waste all that time nursing you back to health so you could fight that amorous twit!” She shoved him but nothing happened. He didn’t even move.

He grabbed her and held her tightly against him. She struggled but she couldn't get away. He looked down on her with a dangerous glint in his eye. “If you didn't nurse me back to health to fight Bronn, what did you nurse me back to health for?”

She raised her eyebrow as her eyes fell to his lips. She bit her bottom lip and held it in her teeth. Sandor didn’t need to be asked twice. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He carried her to her cot and held her in place as he climbed on top of her and kissed her breathless. The cot shifted and broke with a loud crack and both Sandor and Arya tumbled onto the ground. Arya shrieked with laughter as they tried to untangle themselves. He tried his best to quiet her. He damn sure didn't want to wake the rest of the camp. The situation might prove more than a little difficult to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	17. The Calm

For as much as Lord Bronn was fond of bragging, he was strangely silent as they rode up the hill to Highgarden. The castle included three concentric tiers of beautiful, shining white stone. Between the outermost wall and the middle wall was the famous briar maze. Bronn explained this was designed both for enjoyment and defense against invaders. Inside the inner rings was a beautiful complex of towers, courtyards, colonnades and statuary. There were waterfalls, pools and meandering pathways. All sorts of lovely shrubs, rosebushes and ivy had been carefully maintained. Although, winter had reached Highgarden and the usual splendor was somewhat muted.

As they dismounted from their horses, Bronn asked, “What do you think, Lady Arya?"

Arya murmured, “It truly is lovely, Lord Bronn.”

Bronn gave her a half-smile. Arya wondered if he was thinking of the Tyrell’s whom had lived at Highgarden for the past 300 years and whose House was no more. She thought maybe he was. She gave him an encouraging smile. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

Bronn had the weary travelers shown to their rooms. He decided to have a feast on the following day since everyone agreed they just wanted to rest. Arya hadn’t intended on taking a nap but she'd fallen asleep anyway. She woke up after a couple of hours. She had a pain in her neck and was rather out of sorts but a group of pretty, young handmaidens soon set her to rights with a nice, hot bath. After bathing in rose-scented water, soap, oil and shampoo, she smelled decidedly like a rosebush.

Sandor was lying on his bed following his bath, thinking about Arya. He decided they were lucky Arya’s cot had broken and he was forced to quickly leave her tent. He didn’t understand how he could have been so foolish. He couldn’t trust himself to be alone with her. That much was obvious. When he’d picked her up and taken her to her bed, he’d just done exactly what he’d wanted without regard to the consequences.

She hadn’t been disgusted, afraid or intimidated by him. She’d looked him right in the face. He remembered how she was warm and soft underneath him as she smiled and eagerly accepted him into her arms. She was nothing like any of the other women he’d known. Of course, they had all been paid women. They didn’t know him the same way Arya knew him. It occurred to him that he might have changed for the better. Maybe he wasn’t as angry and rude as he used to be.

Arya put on her cloak and wandered around the garden even though she knew Bronn would probably want to show her around the next day. She came across Jaime in a little alcove, seated on a decorative stone bench.

“Do you want to be alone?” Arya inquired politely.

“No, of course not.” He smiled. “Have a seat.”

Arya sat down beside him. “It’s a bit chilly out here.”

“Yes, it was so pleasant in the Reach. Casterly Rock is even further north from here. The weather should be just perfect for a Northern girl like you, Arya.” Jaime commented.

“Ha! That’s what you think. I’m a summer child. Plus, I spent a long time . . . away.” She finished lamely.

Jaime gave her a look. “Where you may or may not have learned to fight?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think you ever told me how you and Clegane became such good friends.”

Arya studied Jaime’s face. “Do you really want to know?”

“Of course.”

She took a deep breath. “Well, after Sandor uh . . . left King’s Landing and after I escaped from captivity at Harrenhal . . ."

“You were a prisoner at Harrenhal?”

“Yes. Gregor and his men were torturing and killing men, women and children one right after the other there. It was horrible and pointless. Then your father came and put a stop to it.”

“He did?”

“Yes. I was dressed as a boy but he saw right through that and made me his cup bearer.”

“You’re kidding!”

“No, he didn’t realize who I was. He was a very intelligent man. We had some good conversations.”

“But?”

“But, I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

“I can’t say that I blame you. I loved my Father but he was quite ruthless.”

“He was responsible for the Red Wedding, you know.”

Jaime sighed. “I don’t doubt it.” There was a silence between them for a minute or two.

“Anyway, after that I was captured by the Brotherhood without Banners and then I ran away from them and Sandor kidnapped me and tried to sell me back to my family but they kept dying faster than he could get me to them.”

“I wouldn’t think that would make him your friend.”

“I didn’t think so at first, either, but I was wrong. He took care of me and saved my life again and again. You see, I was so sure of my reckless, stupid self.” She laughed sadly. “He tried his best to make sure I made it home.” Arya got a faraway look in her eye.

“Why did you part ways?”

Arya looked back at Jaime. “Brienne killed him.” She exhaled. “She thought she was doing the right thing.” Arya took hold of his arm. “Jaime, have you tried to get her back? Couldn’t you explain?”

Jaime tipped his head back and gazed into the sky. “It’s too late. I think if I were to explain why I went to King’s Landing it would hurt her even more than she’s been hurt already.”

“Why?”

“She never thought she was good enough for me. That’s why she was quick to assume I had gone back to Cersei. If I told her the truth now, she would know she’s the one responsible for losing faith in us. I’d rather she just blamed me instead.”

“I’m not sure you’re right about that, Jaime.” Arya frowned.

“Be careful, Arya. Clegane and Brienne have a lot in common.”

“What do you mean?” She asked softly.

“He doesn’t feel worthy of you, either.”

Highgarden had a lovely sept that was lined with rows of stained-glassed windows that depicted the Seven as well as Garth Greenhand, the legendary first king of the Reach. Arya thought it pretty but what she really sought was the Godswood. Instead of a single heart tree, it contained the Three Singers which were three immense weirwood trees that had grown together to resemble a single tree with three trunks. Arya knelt underneath them and prayed to the Old Gods of the Forest. Jaime’s warning had frightened her.

. . . . .

They spent two weeks at Highgarden. Bronn was an excellent host. He stuffed them and pampered them all to within an inch of their lives. He entertained them with singers and he even had a company of mummers perform a play for them. Arya got choked up and Sandor held her hand during the performance.

Sandor found her later hidden in the briar maze.

“How’d you know where I was?” She asked.

He sat down on the bench next to her. “I figured hiding yourself inside a mass of prickly thorns would be your style.” He joked as he gave her a flicker of a smile. “What’s wrong?”

"Nothing, now that you're here."

Bronn readied everything for the trip to Casterly Rock. Sandor decided they should continue traveling with Jaime and Bronn. He had very little coin. He would need to find a job if they were to try to find another place on their own. Lannisport would be his best option. It was on the way to Casterly Rock. It was a large city and there was sure to be some kind of work for him there. He hoped no one would recognize him like they did in the Reach.

Sandor was relaxing on his soft, comfortable bed in his warm and cozy room. A fire had been lit and was crackling occasionally. He didn’t really like fires but he liked to be warm. He was reading a book on the First Men when he heard a light tap at the door.

“It’s me. Open the door.” Arya whispered.

Sandor got up and lifted the bar and ushered her inside the room and then dropped it back down in place. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just want to talk.”

Sandor pulled the chair up next to the bed for her to sit in while he lay back down. Arya ignored the chair and climbed into bed beside him. “I miss this, Sandor. Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer but he put his arm around her.

“What are you reading?” She picked up his book. “It looks thrilling.”

He took it from her. “It is.”

“I meant to ask you, with all that sleeping on the ground on the way here, how are your shoulders?”

He looked at her suspiciously. “They’re fine.”

“Are you sure? I could check them for you.”

“They’re fine.”

She reached for his book and put it on the bedside table. “Turn over, Sandor.”

He hesitated and she gave him a gentle nudge. He knew better, Gods, he knew better but it had been so long since she’d touched him and he wanted it. He rolled over on his stomach. At first she massaged his shoulders and neck over his tunic. Soon she made her way down his back and Sandor melted under her touch.

“Here, take your shirt off for me, would you, sweetling?”

Sandor had never been called sweetling before. He knew he shouldn’t take his shirt off but the thought of her warm hands on his bare skin was too tempting. He pulled his shirt over his head without the slightest protest.

“There you go, that’s better isn’t it?” She said softly.

She worked him over again. Slowly.

“How’s that? Do you feel better now, Sandor?”

He raised himself up onto his elbows and turned to her. He pulled her into his arms and his mouth found hers. He pushed her onto her back and kissed her slowly as he teased her with his tongue. “How’s that, sweetling?”

“Umm.”

He kissed her for so long that she became sleepy. He kissed her eyelids and cheeks and tucked her back under his arm. His body was thrumming for her. He wondered how far she would be willing to go. He’d been able to control himself this time but what about the next time? She scared him. Sooner or later, something was going to happen. He wouldn’t be able to take it back. Then what?

. . . . .

They took the Searoad from Highgarden along the western coast of the Sunset Sea. Along the road they visited Old Oak in the Reach which was the home of House Oakheart. Ser Arys Oakheart had been a member of the Kingsguard with Sandor but had died during the Battle of King’s Landing. After that they stopped at Crakehall in the Westerlands. Jaime had been a squire there in his youth and was much affiliated with them.

They rode on until Jaime raised his hand and stopped their group. He turned and looked at Arya and pointed to the east. “Clegane Keep is off that way.”

Sandor positively snarled. “I know where it is!”

“I thought you might want to visit.” Jaime glanced at Arya again. “You too.”

“You thought wrong! Why in the name of the Seven would I ever want to go there again?”

Arya was studying Jaime’s face. She thought maybe he was trying to tell her something. “I’d like to see it, Sandor.”

He rounded on her like he had when she’d tried to burn his bite wound in the Vale. “I said no, Girl! Say no more about it!”

Bronn wasn’t sure what all the fuss was about but he called a halt for the men to take a rest. Sandor got down off his horse and stomped off into the trees. Arya took hold of his horse’s reins and tied both of their horses alongside the road. Bronn’s men brought out some bread and dried fruit and jerky. After about ten minutes, Jaime got up and went into the woods after Sandor.

Sandor was sitting on a large rock. He was hunched over with his head in his hands. Jaime cleared his throat. Sandor’s head jerked up. “What is wrong with you, Lannister! Clegane Keep is cursed!”

Jaime didn’t want to get too close. Clegane still seemed too volatile. "You’re the Lord there now. You have considerably more land now than your family had before. I thought perhaps you may be short on coin and the rents and taxes due the Lord may be just what you need.”

Sandor sneered. “I’m sure any steward of Gregor’s would have stolen everything or abandoned his post after Gregor’s death.”

“That’s true. That’s why King Bran ordered a new steward to be installed after he made you a nobleman.”

Sandor stared at Jaime. “How much more land has the King given me? Surely, it’s not that much?”

Jaime shrugged. “It’s not an insignificant amount.”

Sandor appeared concerned. “But, in order to give me more land he would have had to take it away from you. You own the land surrounding Clegane Keep.”

“Well, yes. Don’t worry about me too much.” He grinned. “I still have plenty of land not to mention gold mines.”

“I don’t understand. You fought just as hard at Winterfell as I did. Why would he reward me at your expense?”

Jaime thought about how to answer Clegane’s question. He had discussed this at length with the King. He decided not to mention his part in the decision.

“Arya tells me you kept her alive as a child. Later, you returned and saved her again at Winterfell. With the honor that all the Starks hold so dear, are you really surprised that they would choose to reward you? Besides, you must be aware of the bond between them all. Do you not understand that saving Arya’s life would mean everything to her brother, the King?”

. . . . . 

Even though the weather was already cold and a northerly wind was blowing, Sandor was sweating. The closer he got to Clegane Keep the more uncomfortable he was. He had not been back since he was sixteen. There was nothing there but pain. Gregor had burned him, he had murdered their father in a supposed “hunting accident” and his little sister had most likely been killed by him as well. Sandor could barely remember her; he had been very young when she disappeared. Gregor had even murdered both of his wives. The place was full of ghosts.

The name Clegane was universally reviled all over Westeros but especially in the Westerlands. The Cleganes were their shame. Gregor had raped and pillaged, tortured and murdered everywhere he went in the service of Tywin Lannister and wherever and whenever he pleased. Sandor was no saint either. He had committed many foul deeds in the service of the Lannisters and his King. He had killed Arya’s friend, the butcher’s boy on Cersei’s orders. As much as he’d like to blame the Lannisters, he’d continued to fight and kill for survival and even revenge long after he was free from them.

So far, he had traveled the Searoad under a false name. If they knew him at Crakehall, they had been polite enough in Jaime’s presence not to say anything. They would most definitely know him at the village below his Keep. His burn scar and great height would give him away.

The villagers stopped and stared as they rode into town. Bronn’s soldiers tensed. They could feel the danger in the air. Arya glanced at Sandor, her hand went to Needle. She could feel it too. They dismounted and stepped inside the inn.

As soon as they caught sight of Sandor, you could have heard a pin drop. Jaime ignored them all and stepped up to the bar. “My friends and I will all have some ale.” He placed some coin on the bar.

No one moved. “Well, I say, this is no way to treat your new Lord. Here he is fresh from his triumph at the Battle of Winterfell and duly honored by the King. As you know, my grandfather, Lord Tytos Lannister was attacked by a lioness. Clegane’s grandfather, a kennelmaster, saved his life. In gratitude for his bravery, Clegane Keep was given to him as a knightly house. Now your current Lord Sandor Clegane has gone one step further and has been named to the nobility. He has elevated the lot of you from no longer having a knightly house but a noble House given to him by the King.

“Are you claiming to be Lord Jaime Lannister? You spoke of Lord Tytos.” Someone asked.

“Yes, I’m Jaime Lannister.”

“Prove it.”

Jaime thumped his golden hand on the bar top.

The bar patrons were convinced. They all started to whisper amongst themselves at once. The barman poured them all some ale. Finally, someone addressed Jaime. “So, you’re saying that Clegane here,” he pointed to Sandor, “is some kind of hero now?”

“Yes.”

There was a low chatter going around the room. “You would have to defend him, wouldn’t you? You’re a Lannister.”

“I am a Lannister but it’s still true. He has been honored for services rendered to House Stark and all Seven Kingdoms.”

Bronn decided he needed to have his say. “I’m Lord Bronn of Highgarden and Lord Paramount of the Reach. I say it is true that Clegane here is a hero. He hasn’t always been one, I admit. But he’s certainly one now. The Starks have brought out the best in him.” He turned and smiled at Arya.

More whispering and chatter filled the room. “What do you have to say about him, girl?” Someone called out.

“What’s it matter what she has to say, she’s only a woman!” Someone else said dismissively. There were titters of laughter that followed.

Apparently, this angered Lord Bronn. He slammed his metal cup on the bar. The loud sound immediately got everyone’s attention. “You had better take care. This is no ordinary woman. This is Arya Stark, the Bringer of Dawn.”

There was a moment of shocked silence and then everyone began to talk at once. The voices became louder and louder and more and more excited.

Arya stepped into the center of the room. She unsheathed her catspaw dagger. The room fell deathly silent.

Arya held the dagger aloft and twisted it back and forth in her hand. “Do you see the light dancing off its greenish highlights? This is a Valyrian steel dagger. I plunged it in between the Night King’s armor plates and shattered him into a million pieces with it.”

She then lowered the dagger and pointed it towards Sandor. “If it wasn’t for this man, Lord Sandor Clegane, this would have not been possible. He saved my life mere minutes before I confronted the Night King. If not for him, I would not have brought the dawn. There would be no dawn. There would be no more me, nor him, nor you, nor anyone here in this room, nor anywhere else, anywhere. There would only be darkness.” Arya sheathed her dagger and resumed her place at Sandor’s side.

The villagers took in the absolute fierceness apparent on Arya’s face and they believed. They believed every word she said. The room erupted in an overwhelmingly loud cheer for the Bringer of Dawn and their own Lord Sandor Clegane.

Sandor turned to Arya. “You didn’t have to do that, Arya.”

“Yes, I did. Besides, it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	18. It's Not Like That

After they left the inn they traveled up the hill to Clegane Keep. It sat empty. The door was barred with a chain and padlock. Apparently, Sandor wasn’t the only one who wanted nothing to do with the place. They found some workmen repairing a stone wall who were able to direct them to the steward. He had his own cottage nearby but the rent and tax records as well as the coin were kept inside the Keep. The steward was a capable looking man in his mid-thirties. He unlocked the door and stood waiting for Sandor to enter.

Arya glanced at Sandor. He was as white as a sheet. He was clenching and unclenching his hands. She realized he was not just reluctant to go inside; he was afraid. She stepped forward to lend him her support. He reached out and grabbed her arm.

“No!” He exclaimed. “I don’t want you to go in there.”

“It’s alright, Sandor. We can go in together.”

“No. I want you to wait outside with Bronn. Jaime and I will go.”

Arya’s heart went out to him but she could see how upset he was so she stepped away from the door. She turned and noticed that the workmen had left their masonry duties and were clustered together behind them.

Bronn took a few steps backward and tipped his head back to look up at the Keep. “What’s going on? Don’t tell me the place is haunted?” He laughed.

One of the workmen stepped forward. “Tis no joke. It is haunted. It’s full of murdered souls; all victims of Ser Gregor. They are his family, his servants and the Gods only know who else.”

Bronn looked serious for once. He took Arya’s arm and pulled her back further away from the Keep and away from the danger. She remembered Gregor at Harrenhal. He was more than just a killer. He had not an ounce of humanity. It made her sick just to think about him. After living at Harrenhal, she fully believed it to be a cursed place. She imagined it was possible that the evil had been absorbed into the stones themselves. It might very well be true of Clegane Keep as well. She was suddenly glad that Sandor had asked her to wait outside.

Another of the workmen spoke up. “They say that Ser Gregor is gone but I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, he’d dead alright. I witnessed his head fly from his body.” Arya assured the men.

The workman looked at her strangely. “Oh, we’ve no doubt he’s dead. We just wonder if his spirit didn’t come back here to the Keep.”

“I don’t know about his spirit but I know for sure his soul is not here.” Arya stared at them steadily. “He didn’t have one.”

. . . . .

Sandor insisted they push on towards Casterly Rock even though there were only a few hours left before sunset. No one blamed him for wanting to put as much distance between himself and Clegane Keep as possible.

Everyone was aware of Sandor’s mood. They all tried to be particularly cheerful around the campfire that evening. Even Bronn’s soldiers made an effort to try to distract him from his gloom or maybe they were all just a little unsettled. They all talked a little louder and laughed a little harder. They told some funny stories as the wineskin was passed around liberally. Arya sat beside Sandor. She was so close her thigh was rubbing against his for most of the evening.

Finally, everyone had turned in for the night except the soldiers guarding the perimeter. The only two people left around the fire were Sandor and Arya. She realized he was a little drunk. Before they’d left Highgarden, Bronn had offered to bring a tent for him but he had refused. He wasn’t about to trust Arya’s safety to one of Bronn’s men. Sandor had continued to sleep outside her tent since they left Highgarden.

Arya got to her feet and held out her hand to Sandor. “Come.”

Sandor looked her up and down and then took her hand and got to his feet. He only staggered a little. She led him inside her tent. It wasn’t completely dark. The fire provided a small amount of light. Arya reached for Sandor’s belt and stood in front of him as she unclasped it and pulled it away from his waist. It was extremely heavy. It held his long sword and dagger.

“What are you doing, Girl?”

“What’s the matter? Are you afraid to be defenseless around me?” She teased.

“A little.” He answered honestly.

She removed her own weapons belt and shoved her cot out of the way and spread her furs on the ground. She laid their belts and weapons alongside the bedding. She sat down and removed her boots and then she crawled under the covers. She looked up at Sandor as she waited. Did she have to draw him a diagram? Finally, she raised the edge of the warm fur blanket in a silent invitation to join her.

“Arya . . .”

“Get in the bed, Sandor.”

Sandor sat down and took off his boots. He slid underneath the covers with Arya. “What if someone realizes I’m in here with you?”

“I’ll tell them you were so drunk you didn’t know where you were and you tripped over your own big feet. The next thing I knew you passed out and I couldn’t wake you so I just left you where you fell and you snored all night like a wild boar.”

Sandor turned toward her and rested his head on his elbow. “Well, that’s certainly a flattering story but I have a question for you.”

“What’s that?”

“Do boars actually snore?”

. . . . .

Several hours later Arya was awakened by Sandor whimpering in his sleep. He began to thrash around. She called his name several times but she was reluctant to reach out for him, he was more that strong enough to hurt her before he was fully awake and realized what he was doing. She scrambled away from him.

“It’s alright, Sandor. You’re safe. I’m here.” She repeated several times. He turned his head to the sound of her voice. She risked touching his ankle. She could jump back if she needed to. ”It’s alright, Sandor. I’ve got you.”

He sat up. “Arya? Where are you?”

She crawled over beside him. “I’m right here.”

He was breathing heavily and trying to catch his breath. “Where were you? I need you!” Arya threw her arms around him. He grasped onto her and pulled her onto his lap. “Don’t leave me, Arya.”

“I won’t, I’ll never leave you, Sandor.” She kissed him. “Never.”

Sandor returned her kiss and before long his hands had slid up under her layers of clothing and he was touching her breasts. She moaned and trembled from his touch and then she began taking off one layer after another. Sandor reached out to help her and hurry her along. They had removed everything except for the bindings that concealed the truth of her femininity. He paused in anticipation, the light was dim but it was enough. He could see her body. She reached behind her and untied the knot and ripped the cloth away. Her exquisite breasts bounced free and Sandor was irresistibly drawn to them like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He would partake of the bounty she offered him and damn the consequences.

Arya held Sandor’s head tightly to her breast. His beard was rough against her skin but it felt wonderful. Everything he was doing was wonderful. He was using his hands and his fingers and his mouth. She had not known it was possible for a man to give such pleasure with his lips, his teeth and his tongue.

Arya reached up under his clothing and trailed her fingers across his back and then his chest. She brushed her fingertips gently across his warm skin. She alternated between softly using her nails and caressing his sides and his abdominal muscles. She was sitting on his lap and she could feel his hard length beneath her. She gently pushed herself up against him. He moaned around her breast. She ground herself on him a little more and then she reached for the drawstring that held his breeches together.

Sandor pushed her back. He shook his head. He gently moved Arya to the side and then he pulled his boots on. He stood and secured his belt and weapons to his waist. He was afraid to look at her but he could see in his peripheral vision that she was holding a piece of her clothing over her chest. He left the tent not because he wanted to but because he had to. He loved her. He loved the beautiful, fierce, grey-eyed Stark girl.

. . . . .

Arya rode beside Jaime. Sandor had stopped speaking to her. It had been two days since she’d ruined everything. She wondered if he was repulsed by her because she had been so forward he had been reminded she was not a virgin. That would have been bad enough. What she was really afraid of was that although he liked her as his friend and companion he did not share the same feelings for her that she had for him. Just because he was tempted by her physically didn’t mean she was the one who owned his heart. It wasn’t fair. She couldn’t help it that she wasn’t beautiful and genteel. That she wasn’t tall and womanly. That she wasn’t born with red hair.

Jaime and Bronn could tell something was wrong. They rallied around Arya. They assumed she and Clegane must have had an argument. Jaime suspected Arya had been through far more than anyone knew in the years that she had been missing. He knew she was good at hiding her feelings. He remembered she had told him once that she’d spent some time in the company of mummers. He’d thought at the time that she was joking but now he wasn’t so sure. She’d spent some time somewhere with someone. She did know how to rule her face.

After several days and with Bronn’s prodding, Jaime decided he had to be the one to approach Clegane. He had been sullen and brooding and when one of Bronn’s men set him off he sneered and was as coarse as he ever was back when he was still the Hound. Everyone had turned in for the night except the sentries. Clegane was still sitting morosely around the fire. Jaime went into his tent and came out with a bottle of Arbor Gold.

Jaime handed the bottle to Clegane for him to open then he took a pull. He sat down beside Clegane and offered the bottle back to him. Sandor grumbled but took a swig.

“We should make Casterly Rock the day after tomorrow. Don’t get me wrong, I love my horse and all but I’m sick to death of traveling. What about you?” Jaime asked.

“Yes, my arse could use a rest as well.”

“No, I mean what are your plans? Of course, you’re welcome at Casterly Rock for as long as you want to stay but . . .”

“I don’t think I should go to Casterly Rock.”

“What?”

“I was thinking about getting a place in Lannisport and finding a job. The coin I got at my Keep won’t last me forever.”

“Sandor, you’re a Lord now. Lords don’t get jobs.”

“Fuck being a Lord. I want to get a place in Lannisport. Besides, if I go to Casterly Rock and I am seen with you, people will probably recognize me and run me off again like they did in the Reach.”

Jaime frowned. “Is that what you and Arya had a fight about?”

Sandor turned to look at Jaime. “No.”

“So, how does Arya fit into this plan of yours? Have you discussed it with her?”

“No. I just figure we’ll do like we did before.”

“Really? I hate to break it to you but that’s the stupidest plan I ever heard of.”

Sandor scowled at Jaime. “What’s so stupid about it?”

Jaime shook his head. “You can’t play house with the King’s sister.”

“I . . . we . . . it’s not like that.”

“It’s not?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	19. Don't Blow It

The next evening, Sandor stood next to the entrance to Arya’s tent and called to her.

Arya stood inside the shadows. “What do you want?”

He decided that she didn’t sound very friendly. “Do you mind if I come in? I want to talk to you about something.”

“I don’t think so.” She let the flap fall back into place.

Sandor barged on in. “Listen, Girl. I’m sorry about what happened the other night.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I know I’ve been an arse. I didn’t know what to say. I made a pretty bad mistake. I can assure you that it won’t happen again.”

“What won’t happen again? You being an arse and running away from me and then pretending I don’t exist or . . . what happened between us?”

Sandor’s face flushed with embarrassment and he rubbed his temples. “We need to go back to like things were before. That’s all. Like when we lived in the Reach. I’m going to get us a place in Lannisport. You can stay up at Casterly Rock until I get a job and get things ready.”

Arya rounded on him. “Are you fucking kidding me? Have you lost your mind? I wouldn’t live with you even if you were the last man alive!” She advanced on him menacingly until she was right up close. She stood glaring up at him with her hands on her hips.

Sandor was taken aback. “I don’t understand.”

“You don’t understand? Get out of this tent before I hurt you!” She reached for Needle.

Sandor grabbed her hand before she could unsheathe her sword. He let go of her and stepped back in shock. “Arya, what’s wrong?”

“For one thing, how dare you think you can just play with my emotions like that? Why do you think you can kiss me or touch me whenever you please but then push me away? Who do you think you are? Don’t my feelings count for anything? I don’t deserve to be treated like that!” Arya was working herself up and getting angrier by the second.

“I already apologized! I won’t ever lay a finger on you again. Are you happy now?”

No, she wasn’t happy. He was telling her the exact opposite of what she wanted to hear. “So, if I understand you correctly, you want us to stay together as companions and look after one another?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“No.”

Sandor frowned. “Why not? That’s how it worked before in the Reach.”

“No. That was different.”

“How was it different?”

Arya couldn’t very well tell him it was because she thought they had a future together. She couldn’t tell him that she had fallen in love with him and she thought that he was falling for her too. Now he was making it perfectly plain that he didn’t feel that way at all. She was the world’s biggest fool. “I can’t settle for that, Sandor. It’s not good enough.”

Sandor felt as if she stabbed him in the heart. “What is it you want? A big castle? Servants? Someone to fawn over you like Gendry?”

Arya’s eyes flashed with fire. “Maybe I do want someone just like Gendry. Someone who loves me for me!”

“Are you kidding? That stupid boy has no idea who you are! He has no idea just how ruthless you can be.”

“You’re a fine one to call someone ruthless!”

“I’m not the one who left you for dead without mercy.” He regretted saying it the minute it came out of his mouth but it was too late.

She bit down on her lip so hard that it bled. She couldn’t let him see her tremble. “Do you want to know the truth about that?” She snapped.

Sandor hardened his heart. “Tell me.”

“I didn’t kill you because I was so angry at you I wanted you to suffer! You deserved it! You deserved every last bit of it.” She ground out with fire in her eyes.

Sandor inhaled sharply. He folded his arms across his chest and caught hold of his arms as if to protect himself from any more of her brutal words. He turned his head away but not before she saw the pain on his face.

She reached out to him and touched his arm. He pulled away from her. “Sandor,” Arya took a deep breath. “I was a stupid girl and I was wrong. I was so mad at you for abandoning me. Don’t you know how much I needed you? I had no one left. It didn’t take me very long before I regretted it. It didn’t take long at all.” Tears spilled from her eyes and she hastily wiped them away on her sleeve.

He wouldn’t look at her. She had hurt him.

“They played a game at the House of Black and White. It was called the Game of Faces. The object is to be able to lie convincingly. It’s a part of becoming no one. The way to win is to let go of your identity and everything that ever mattered to you. I was hit with a stick many times because of you. It seems I wasn’t able to let you go.”

Sandor turned and reached out to Arya and pulled her into his arms. “I couldn’t forget about you either.” He put his large hand underneath her chin and tipped it up and he bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. Arya put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest.

“Sandor?”

“Hmm?”

Arya reached up and pulled him back down to her and tried to kiss him again.

Sandor pushed her away. He had to protect her. “No, Arya. This cannot happen.”

Arya’s anger bubbled to the surface along with humiliation. “Yes, it’s too bad I’m not the Little Bird.”

“The Little Bird? What’s she got to do with anything?”

“Are you going to try to deny you are still in love with my sister?”

Sandor’s eyebrows came together in consternation. “Sansa? I’m not in love with Sansa.”

“You could have fooled me. All that mooning around you did over her.” Arya hissed.

“That was a long time ago. That wasn’t love. It was infatuation. I didn’t even know what love was.”

“Are you saying that you know now?”

“Yes! Damn you. I know what it is now.” Sandor was forced to admit.

How could he tell her that she was the one he thought about in bed every night? How could he tell her that she was the one he dreamed about as the mother of his children? How could he tell her that she was the one that he had nightmares full of guilt over when he thought she was dead? How could he tell her that she was the one that had believed he wasn’t a dog and had turned him into a man? He couldn’t. He had nothing to offer her. All he had was a haunted Keep, a horrible, shameful reputation and a life lived without honor.

“You say you know what love is. What is it, then? For once and for all, do you love me or not? Tell me what love is!” Arya insisted with her voice full of emotion.

“It’s nothing I can offer you.” Sandor turned abruptly and left the tent. He went straight to his horse and left the camp without another word to anyone.

. . . . .

Arya continued to Casterly Rock with Jaime and Bronn. She wasn’t there a day when she insisted she was going home to Winterfell. Jaime and Bronn both tried to talk her out of it but if Arya Stark was anything, it was stubborn. When Jaime finally realized he couldn’t stop her, he offered Arya an escort of ten soldiers to Riverrun and her relatives at House Tully. She told Jaime she would return his soldiers to him as soon as she reached there as her uncle, Lord Edmure Tully, would have her escorted from there to Winterfell. It was still winter and times were still tough and it was not safe to be traveling alone.

They stood out in the courtyard of the magnificent rock that Jaime’s castle sat upon. “Farewell, Jaime.” Arya hugged him. “Thank you for everything you did for me. I really am grateful. I know you tried your hardest to take care of me.” Arya started to tear up.

“Now, now, chin up, Arya. I’m sure things won’t always be as bad as they are right now. You do know that he loves you, don’t you?”

She shook her head.

“Well, he does. He’s just has some issues he needs to work through. He would be a fool to let you go.”

“Jaime, you don’t understand. He’s already let me go. He does care for me; I’m just not the _one_. No one knows more than you that things don’t always work out right in the end. Love doesn’t always conquer all.”

Jaime hugged her again and kissed her on the forehead.

Arya turned to Bronn. “Bronn, I’m actually proud to call you a friend of mine.”

“Thank you, Arya. I’m proud to call you my friend too. You are a wonderful girl. I would have been honored to have you as my wife. If you ever decide to reconsider, you know where to find me.” He smirked and then he became serious. “If you ever need anything, you can count on me.”

“Thank you, Bronn.” Arya hugged him and he took the opportunity to kiss her on the mouth. It made Arya laugh. She mounted her horse and rode off for the River Road along with Jaime's men.

Bronn waved until she was out of sight. “You were right. She is in love with Clegane, isn’t she?”

“I told you they were together. Just because you didn’t want to believe me didn’t make it any less true.”

. . . . .

Sandor showed up four days later at Casterly Rock. He had been in Lannisport getting drunk off his ass for days. He looked like shit. He didn’t smell very good either. Jaime had him shown in to his solar. He put down the book he’d been reading.

“Well, Clegane? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Where’s Arya?”

“Your Wolf Girl is headed back to her den. She left four days ago.”

Sandor’s mouth fell open. “No! How could you have let her go?”

“One doesn’t let Arya Stark do anything. She does whatever she damn well pleases. You should know that by now. Besides, I thought you were the one who let her go, not me.”

Sandor looked at him in anguish.

“You know, you’re not the only fool. I had Brienne and I lost her.”

“Well, what did you expect? You left her at Winterfell to run to the aid of your dear sister.” Sandor frowned. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I understand that you had a lifetime of history with her. It’s too bad you got there too late to be with her.”

“What makes you think I got there too late?”

“What? Arya told me she wasn’t able to kill her because she was already dead.”

“That’s not exactly what happened. When I got there, Arya had Cersei pinned to the wall and was just about to explain to her why messing with the North was such a bad idea.”

“But . . . you stopped her?”

Jaime rapped his golden hand on the arm of his chair. “No, I couldn’t have prevented Arya from doing whatever she wanted.” Jaime looked Sandor in the eye. “I distinctly remember Arya saying that the only thing that had kept her alive was her need to kill my sister.”

“She told me she didn’t kill her.”

“She didn’t. What Arya wanted to do was save your sorry hide. The last thing she said before she ran up the stairs was that she had found something more important to live for.”

Sandor sat across from Jaime for quite awhile thinking about what he had told him. Then Sandor thought about Cersei. If Arya didn’t kill her . . . He glanced over at Jaime. Oh.

“Well, Clegane. It’s time to put up or shut up. You have a shite legacy, it’s true. Tear down Clegane Keep if you must. Build a new House and a new future; one you can be proud of. It won’t be easy but I believe you to be a brave man and I know for certain that Arya is the strongest and bravest young woman in Westeros or anywhere else for that matter. I don’t think you could ask for a better partner.”

“I can’t subject Arya to the shame and dishonor of the Clegane name. I won’t do it.”

Jaime continued. “There are certainly other more honorable names than yours. There are more prestigious and wealthier Lords than you. I’d say you know her pretty damn well; what do you think Arya wants in a husband? Many men would be pleased to marry the sister of the King and the Bringer of Dawn. It would bring them excellent political alliance not to mention social status. But would any one of them honor, cherish and love her such as you do?”

Sandor bowed his head. “It’s not enough.”

“Why don’t you ask her what she wants? Perhaps she’s interested in a man that understands what honor is because he was once a Hound without any.”

Sandor looked into Jaime’s green eyes and tried to find the answer there.

“Damn it, man! Are you blind in both eyes instead of just one? There are much better men than you throughout the North and the Six Kingdoms but . . .”

“But what?”

“Arya wants you. Don’t blow it.”

Sandor sighed.

“By the way, I received a raven from Riverrun. Arya’s good friend, Lord Gendry, is there for a visit and he was ever so pleased when I informed them that Arya is headed in their direction.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	20. Not Yet, Anyway

Sandor made preparations to travel to Riverrun. Jaime generously provided him with food and an extra horse so he could travel without having to take as many breaks. The horses needed to take longer breaks when they were carrying a rider, especially one as large and heavy as Sandor. Jaime had also offered an escort of a couple of men. Sandor had refused fearing it would slow him down.

“Good luck and Godspeed.” Jaime said as he shook Sandor’s hand.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for Arya and me.” Sandor acknowledged. “You’re a good man, Jaime Lannister.”

“Yes, it is a well established fact that I’m pretty wonderful.” He agreed. Bronn snorted and Sandor returned Jaime’s smile. Jaime continued, “Seriously, I consider you both my friends.”

Bronn held out his hand to Sandor. “You do right by our girl, do you hear?”

“I intend to.”

“Although, I can’t imagine what she could possibly see in a big blockhead like you.” Bronn chuckled.

Sandor frowned.

“I’m kidding! Do you not have a sense of humor, Clegane? And whatever you do, quit fooling around. The minute you catch sight of her, make your intentions known immediately. You’ve wasted enough time as it is. Women such as her . . . Well, I shouldn’t have to tell you this but there are no other women like her. Don’t let her get away again.”

Sandor mounted his horse and nodded to Jaime and Bronn. He’d had very few friends. He’d always been too angry and distrustful. He was grateful he’d gotten to a place in his life where he was open to friendship. He never would have believed that Jaime Lannister and a reformed blackguard like Bronn could be his friends.

Sandor made good time until he ran into a snowstorm about halfway between Casterly Rock and the Golden Tooth. He had to find shelter for the horses. The cold and wind were just too harsh for them to continue. He found an abandoned cottage with a stable and was forced to wait out the storm. It was frustrating but it couldn’t be helped.

. . . . .

Arya and her escorts arrived at Riverrun. Its stone walls rose from the waters of the Trident. In times of trouble, the sluice gates could be opened to flood the channel west of the castle, turning it into an island for defensive purposes. It was a large castle and home to her mother’s family, House Tully. Her uncle, Lord Edmure Tully was the Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident. It was his nuptials to Roslin Frey that were now referred to as the Red Wedding.

Lord Edmure came out to the courtyard to welcome his illustrious niece. He fully intended to roll out the red carpet for her. After all, she was the sister of the King and it was always a good idea to curry favor with the King whenever possible. Lord Edmure bowed but Lady Arya only nodded instead of curtseying like a highborn lady should. Lord Edmure was taken aback but decided she might have special dispensation as the Bringer of Dawn to forego her courtly manners in this regard.

Just as he was giving her his welcoming speech, that upstart, Lord Gendry, came running out of the stables and skidded to a halt while almost bowling them all over. Lord Edmure frowned but Lord Gendry never noticed because he was too busy grinning like a fool. Lady Arya smirked.

. . . . .

Sandor finally arrived at the Golden Tooth, Home to House Lefford. Although it was a small castle, it controlled access to the Westerlands. The Riverlands were beyond to the east. He had stopped for news of Arya’s travels and a hot meal. The Lord was currently Lady Alysanne Lefford. She had received a raven from Lord Jaime to expect the arrival of Lord Sandor along with a request to treat him well as Lord Clegane was his particular friend.

At first, Lady Alysanne ignored Lord Jaime’s request. She wasn’t very friendly to the Lannister’s Hound but Sandor’s sincerity and seriousness pleased her. She informed him that Lady Arya had stayed at the Tooth briefly but had continued on up the River Road nearly two weeks ago. Sandor thanked her and she offered him bread and salt. When he left the next day, she supplied him with travel rations and wished him well.

The day after leaving House Lefford, Sandor began to feel feverish. He stopped for a rest and to drink some water at noon. He had a pounding headache and began to shiver. He bundled himself up more tightly and forced himself to get back onto his horse. He had traveled for only a couple of more miles when he became dizzy and lost consciousness. He toppled from his horse into the snow beside the road.

A group of soldiers saw him fall from his horse from their position about seventy-five yards distant. They hurried their horses forward along the road to check on the man. Two of the soldiers dismounted and one of them turned Sandor over onto his back.

“Fuck! It’s the Hound!”

“No!” Another one of them said in disbelief.

“Sure it is, it can’t be anyone else. Look at his face.”

They all gaped at him.

“Let’s kill him.”

“No, we can't. He’s a Lord now."

“Who would ever make _him_ a Lord?”

Their leader sighed. “You idiots, how many times have I told you it pays to keep up on current events? The King has made him a Lord. Not only that, he’s a good friend of our own Lord Jaime. I don’t think he’d be very pleased if we killed him.”

The rest of the men all looked at each other sheepishly. They had just taken the King’s sister, the Bringer of Dawn, to Riverrun and were on their way back to Casterly Rock. They were tired and just wanted to get back home.

“I heard he’s not the Hound anymore but some kind of hero and a friend of the Bringer of Dawn.”

“Oh shit! We don’t want to get on her bad side!” The men all murmured their agreement. Arya had had a little fun sparring with some of them on the way to Riverrun. They’d made the mistake of underestimating her because she was a woman. Some of them still had the bruises, scrapes and a cut or two to remind them just how mistaken they’d been.

“What’s wrong with him anyway? He’s not bleeding from anywhere that I can see.”

They tried to rouse Sandor but he just mumbled some nonsense.

“I think he’s sick, what should we do with him?” The soldier looked to his leader.

“You’ll have to load him back onto his horse and we’ll take him to the Tooth. It’s not that far away. We can leave him there. They can look after him.”

The men groaned. The former Hound and current Lord Sandor Clegane weighed a shit ton.

Sandor woke up sometime the next evening in a nice cozy warm bed. An older gray-haired man offered him a drink. Sandor drank thirstily and handed the cup back to the man. Then it dawned on him that the man was a Maester. He was wearing a Maester’s chain.

“Where am I?” He knew he couldn’t be at Riverrun.

“Relax, Lord Sandor. You are once again a guest at House Lefford at the Golden Tooth. You have been ill with a fever. Some of Lord Jaime Lannister’s soldiers found you on the road and brought you back here.”

“What? I have to get to Riverrun. I don’t have time for this!” He croaked. He suddenly realized his throat was sore and he didn’t feel so good.

“Now, now, young man, if you don’t stay in bed and rest, you’ll never make it to House Tully or anywhere else for that matter. You’ve had quite a high fever. You can’t risk going out in the elements anytime soon.”

“But you don’t understand. I have to go. Arya . . .” Sandor stopped speaking He didn’t want House Lefford to know all of his business.

“Ah, a girl, is it?” The Maester grinned. “I’m sure she doesn’t want a dead swain. How about you write her a nice little letter explaining your delay and I’ll send it.”

“Hmf.” Sandor huffed. He looked at the Maester. He seemed like a trustworthy old man. “Alright. Give me something to write with.”

In the end, Sandor had to trust Maester Mikken to write the letter. Sandor read it over and signed it. The Maester then left the room to send it to Arya. Sandor hadn’t sent her a raven from Casterly Rock. He didn’t want her to know he was on his way. He was afraid she might take off again for Winterfell before he could get to her. Now, since he had already been delayed because of the weather and because he was going to be delayed even further, he was afraid _not_ to let her know he was coming.

. . . . .

Arya was out in the training yard in the mud. She was spinning away from her sparring opponent, a loud, rough man named Lachlan. She was thoroughly enjoying herself even though she was spattered with mud and her face was shiny from exertion. Nothing was more exhilarating than taking someone down a peg or two. Lachlan made a miscalculation and Arya was quick to capitalize on it and beat him soundly. Instead of being mad, Lachlan actually smiled at her and offered to treat her to a drink. Arya was just about to accept when she heard Gendry call out to her.

“Next time, Lachlan.” She smiled as she waved him off.

“Lady Arya, why don’t we go inside?” I want to . . .”

“How about you and I have a little match, Lord Gendry?” Arya teased. She waved Needle at him.

Gendry’s face turned red. “I’ve been practicing but I’m still nowhere as good as you.”

“That’s alright. Sandor can’t beat me half the time either.” She said without thinking. She lowered Needle and frowned.

Gendry ushered her inside and then tried to change the subject. He wasn’t sure what had happened between Arry and Clegane but she was upset every time his name was mentioned. If it was up to him, he’d be happy if he never heard Clegane’s name ever again. Clegane had never been anything except unpleasant to him. It was ridiculous but sometimes when Arry would forget herself and mention him, Gendry found that he was a little jealous. For some reason, Arry admired the big, dumb brute. The Gods only knew why. It probably had something to do with loyalty. Gendry remembered how important loyalty had always been to her.

The other ladies were sitting in the solar, gossiping and working on their needlework. Gendry had learned this was what proper ladies did. They ran the household and supervised the servants and made sure the children were cared for. They pursued the womanly arts. Arry got dirty and sweaty rolling around out in the mud. She stomped around in trousers and boots. Sure, she’d acted that way at Winterfell too but they were preparing for battle at the time. He supposed she would never be caught dead in a dress. He couldn’t imagine her at a dance. At first, he wondered if it was a Northern thing but then he remembered her sister didn’t look or act like that.

He decided it didn’t matter. She was tough because she had to be. Maybe if he’d stayed with her when she’d asked him, things would have been different; although, she must have forgiven him because she’d given him her maidenhead. Gods! He was so ashamed of himself for being so utterly selfish. He hadn’t acted very honorably but then again, he hadn’t been a Lord when it happened. That came afterward. He’d just been Gendry, the blacksmith. He never understood how a highborn girl like Arry could have given herself to an ordinary man.

Lord Edmure was sitting at his desk when a number of raven scrolls were brought into him by his Maester. He read through a couple of them when he came to one addressed to Lady Arya Stark. He looked around furtively and then broke open the seal. He could always say it had been damaged in transit. The letter read:

Arya,

I’ve been taken ill but I am on my way. Please wait for me.

Sandor

Sandor? Who was Sandor? Lord Edmure hid the scroll in his desk drawer then he called in his Maester and asked him if he knew anyone named Sandor. When that proved unsuccessful, he asked his steward and then his guard. Finally, he asked Lord Gendry if he knew anyone named Sandor.

“Oh, you mean Sandor Clegane?” Gendry responded.

“Who’s Sandor Clegane?”

“I believe he’s better known as the Hound. Why do you ask?”

“The Hound!” Lord Edmure was shocked. “Is it possible that he knows Lady Arya?” Lord Edmure asked with disbelief.

“Well, yes. She does know him as a matter of fact. I’m a little fuzzy on all the details but he fought at the Battle of Winterfell.”

Lord Edmure hastily excused himself and marched back into his library. He pulled open the drawer and took out the scroll from _the_ _Hound_. How dare that man write to his niece! He tore the scroll up into tiny pieces and threw them into the fire. He was completely confident in his conviction that he’d acted righteously in protecting his niece from contact with a rabid dog.

Arya was standing on the battlements looking out towards the southwest. She was watching the River Road. She was watching for Sandor. Somehow, she had believed he would come. She thought he would come for her. She laughed bitterly. She’d waited nearly a month for him to catch up to her. She bowed her head. It was obvious he wasn’t coming.

Gendry caught sight of Arya in one of the long corridors; she was moving fast and he had to move quickly to reach her. He caught hold of her arm and when she turned he could tell she had been crying. “What’s wrong, Arry?”

Arya couldn’t help thinking that Gendry had been a kind boy and now he was a kind man. She allowed him to pull her into his arms. It felt so nice to have someone care for her. Someone who wasn’t afraid to show her how much she meant to them. He kissed her on the top of her head and told her he would always be there for her.

That night Arya dreamed of Sandor. She reached out for him and he wasn’t there. He had abandoned her again. She woke up with her face wet from tears. She remembered all the nights she had spent beside him. If only he could have loved her like she had loved him. She didn’t see how she could go on but she must. The only thing she knew was that she needed to go home.

The next morning Arya announced she would be leaving for Winterfell the following day. Lord Edmure and his wife, Lady Roslin, insisted she must stay longer. Lord Edmure went on and on and wondered if they had been poor hosts and if she was unsatisfied with their company. Arya had to assure them repeatedly that on the contrary, they were excellent hosts and she’d already stayed far longer than she’d originally intended.

Lord Edmure finally accepted that she was determined to leave but before he could order an armed escort to accompany her to Winterfell, Lord Gendry stepped in and insisted he and his men would take her there. Arya protested but Gendry wouldn’t listen. Arya was feeling so badly she really didn’t want to argue any longer nor did she want to be alone so she finally acquiesced.

. . . . .

About a week later, Lord Edmure was informed that Lord Sandor Clegane was at the gate and wished to have an audience with him. Lord Edmure ordered his guard to standby for his meeting with the Hound. He stepped out into the courtyard but he offered neither bread nor salt. He waited for Clegane to speak.

Sandor saw how things were. He had been unwelcome many places before. “I’ve come to see Lady Arya Stark.” He stated simply.

Lord Edmure was annoyed to see that his wife had come out to stand beside him to see what was happening. He ignored her. “You are too late. Lady Arya is no longer here. She left for Winterfell.”

Sandor was terribly disappointed. “Did she leave a message for me?”

“No.”

“Have any ravens arrived for me here?”

Lord Edmure snorted. “No.”

Sandor frowned. “How long ago did she leave?”

“She left a week ago; more or less.” Lord Edmure had seen how Lord Gendry had followed around after his niece like a love-sick puppy. He wasn’t fond of bastard Baratheons but he was better than the Hound. “Are you interested in attending the wedding? I understand my niece shall be wed soon to the Lord of Storm’s End. He is accompanying her home.”

Sandor clenched his hands into fists as he tried to control the pained look on his face. He knew he wasn’t completely successful when Lord Edmure gave him an unpleasant, wintry smile. Sandor took hold of the reins and mounted his horse once again. He sat there looking down on Lord Edmure. He wanted to wipe the smile off his face but he was too devastated. He wanted nothing more than to go crawl into a hole and die. He urged his horse forward when Lady Roslin called his name. Sandor turned his horse back around.

The daughter of Lord Walder Frey looked Sandor right in the eye. “Lady Arya is _not_ betrothed to Lord Gendry. Not yet, anyway. I understand that they will be stopping at the Inn at the Crossroads. Good day, Lord Sandor.” She curtsied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	21. What Do You Want?

By the time Arya reached the Inn at the Crossroads, she knew she had to have a talk with Gendry. He had tried his best to get close to her. He still had feelings for her even though she had refused his proposal long ago at Winterfell. She was surprised when they had been talking alone at night in his tent and he began to tell her what she meant to him. She had held up her hand and silenced him. She didn’t want to hear any flowery speeches or heartfelt confessions; at least not from Gendry. Once they made it to the inn and the Kingsroad, she would send Gendry and his men south to his home at Storm’s End and she would go north to Winterfell alone.

The inn was bustling as usual. A hush fell over the room when Arya walked in with Gendry. Gendry’s men tensed. A whisper circulated around the room and a moment later Hot Pie came out of the kitchen. He grinned and made his way over to Arya.

“Oh hey, Arry! It’s so good to see you again! You to Gendry!” He and Gendry shook hands.

A man came forward and looked down his nose at Hot Pie. “You idiot! That’s the Bringer of Dawn!”

“I know who she is. She’s a friend of mine.”

Another man came forward from the doorway beside the kitchen. “Oh, I’m sorry Lady Arya. Hot Pie! Get back in the kitchen and stop telling fibs. How preposterous of you to claim you are friends with the Bringer of Dawn.”

Hot Pie frowned.

“I’m sorry, don’t mind him. He’s a little . . . dimwitted. I am honored to have you at my establishment.” The innkeeper turned and motioned at some men sitting at a table on a long bench. “Move over you numbskulls and make room for the Bringer of Dawn and her companion.”

“Hey, I resent that. I’m not dimwitted!” Hot Pie protested.

Arya moved over beside Hot Pie and threw her arm around his shoulders. “This man certainly is my friend. I’ve known him for years. We’ve had all sorts of . . . adventures together, haven’t we?” She smiled at Hot Pie and he beamed back at her.

After Hot Pie’s shift was over, he joined Arya and Gendry in her room and talked over old times late into the night. Finally, he had to excuse himself because he had to get up really early in the morning to bake bread and pies.

Gendry continued to sit across from Arya and sip his wine. “You never forget a friend, do you?” He asked.

Arya shrugged, “No, why would I?”

“You’re different from other highborn ladies.”

“Oh, so you’ve met a lot of them now, have you? Not all that long ago, I was the only one you knew.” She teased.

“I have met a lot of them now. For some reason, marriageable young ladies keep getting thrown at my feet. Their parents want to make alliances with House Baratheon.”

“That’s all well and good Gendry but don’t let anyone force you into something you don’t want. You make sure you love a girl before you marry her, do you hear me?”

“I love you, Arry.” Suddenly, he got up from his chair and stood before the fireplace. “I’m not going to get down on my knee again. I don’t think you liked it the last time I did it.”

“Gendry . . .”

“No, Arry. I need you to show me what to do. I don’t know how to be a Lord. I’m not comfortable around rich and entitled people. You’re different. You’ve always been different. I want nothing more than to be your family and for you to be my family.”

Arya sighed. “Gendry. You have always been brave and strong. Don’t ever believe people are better than you because of their social status or wealth. You know what’s important.” Arya put her hand over heart. “It’s what’s right here that counts; don’t ever lose sight of that and you’ll be fine.”

“Arry . . ."

“The answer is no, Gendry. I have really good memories of you. You’ve been a good friend but I don’t feel that way about you.”

“I think you did, once.”

“I was awfully young, if you recall.”

“Is it because I decided to stay with the Brotherhood?”

“No, I forgave you for that a long time ago. It’s just that we’re not meant to be.”

Gendry’s frowned. “Lots of people get married on less than we have together. Is it because you don’t want a family? I remember you wanted to become a knight once. You never wanted to be a lady.”

For some stupid reason, Arya began to get misty-eyed. Gendry looked at her carefully. “Is there someone else, Arry?”

Arya nodded.

Gendry’s heart dropped but he managed to get control of himself. “I would never stand in the way of anything you wanted. I only want you to be happy.”

“Thank you for understanding, Gendry.”

When she told him the next morning she wanted to go alone to Winterfell, he had a fit but she was finally able to convince him by reminding him she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and besides, he had said he wouldn’t stand in the way of whatever she wanted.

. . . . .

Sandor had traveled as quickly as he could but he knew he had missed Arya. When he arrived at the Inn at the Crossroads, there were neither sleek, fat horses in the stable nor any men wearing Baratheon colors. After putting his horses in the stable and instructing the hostler, he trudged wearily inside the inn.

He found a bench at a table and sat down. The men around him gave him a look but he scowled at them and they quickly decided to mind their own business. He ordered some ale and a meal. A chubby young man in a floury apron came out of the kitchen and proudly set a loaf of bread on the table. Sandor glanced at it and then gave it a second look.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Sandor asked. The bread almost looked like it was in the shape of an animal. A dog? No that wasn’t it. A wolf?

The cook beamed. “It’s a direwolf.”

“A direwolf?”

“It’s in honor of my good friend Arya Stark. She’s the Bringer of Dawn, you know.”

“Mmm, yes, so I’ve heard.” Sandor casually remarked.

“She’s the sister of King and also the sister of Queen Sansa of the North.”

“Really?” Sandor played along.

Yes, Arry’s from Winterhell.”

“Winterfell.”

“Huh?”

“It’s named Winterfell, not Winterhell.”

“Oh, right.” The chubby young man nodded. “She was here less than a week ago. She was with my other good friend, Lord Gendry Baratheon.” Hot Pie couldn’t help bragging.

Sandor sighed and tore off a piece of the wolf bread.

“Is this supposed to be Nymeria?” Sandor wondered as he took a bite.

“Yes, it is. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.” Sandor tore off another piece. “Hey, this is pretty good.”

Hot Pie beamed. “Arry loved it. I sent some home with her. I just gave Lord Gendry a regular loaf though, because he was sad.”

Sandor perked up. “Oh, why was Lord Gendry sad?”

Hot Pie leaned down and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Arry sent him away, back to Storm’s End.”

Sandor sat up straighter and smiled for the first time in a very long time.

“Yes, Arry loves wolves. She once told me she was one. She loves dogs too.”

Sandor stopped chewing. “Dogs?"

“Yeah, right here at breakfast she told me about this dog that liked to snarl and bark a lot and everyone was afraid of it because they thought it was mean and vicious.”

Sandor blinked. “Oh, is that all she said?”

“No, she said it was just pretending. She said the dog was really a good dog and that he was faithful and true.”

“And . . .” Sandor whispered.

“She loved him, of course.” Hot Pie laughed. Sandor gave him a rather large tip.

. . . . .

Arya was almost home. She knew she couldn’t be far from Winter Town. She had set up camp and was sitting beside her campfire. She’d already had her supper. She was just staring into the flames while her thoughts were a million miles away when she heard some twigs snap. She leapt up while drawing Needle at the same time.

She looked around wildly for robbers, killers or worse when she saw a flash of fur. A huge direwolf came into view. No one had to tell her it was Nymeria. She sheathed her sword. She held out her hand. Nymeria nosed the leather bag sitting on the ground. She picked up the strap in her teeth and tossed it into the fire. Arya looked around frantically until she found a stick and fished the bag out of the flames. It was smoking but it was still intact. Ayra glanced around quickly. Nymeria was gone.

Arya groaned. She had missed her chance with Nymeria over the stupid bag. She waited for the bag to cool down. What could have gotten into Nymeria? Why would she throw her bag of faces into the flames? Arya thought about it. She didn’t even know why she still carried the faces. She hadn’t worn them since she’d traveled to King’s Landing. She’d never shown them to Sandor.

Why was she still holding onto them? If you really thought about it, wearing the skin of a dead person was a decidedly monstrous thing to do. She wasn’t a monster anymore. Perhaps Nymeria was trying to tell her something. Maybe she was trying to tell her she didn’t need them any longer. Before Arya could second guess herself, she tossed the bag back into the flames.

. . . . .

The next morning, Arya heard a rider coming up from behind her. She prepared herself for a fight but the rider slowed down. As he got closer, she could see he was a very tall man. Her heart was in her throat. She waited an eternity until he got closer still and then she recognized him; it was Sandor.

He rode up beside her and looked down on her from his great height. “Girl.”

Suddenly, Arya was very angry. She scowled furiously.

Sandor dismounted. He looked up at her as he stood near her leg. He reached out his hand and grasped her horse’s reins so she couldn’t take off.

Arya tossed her head dismissively. “What do you want?”

The tall, scarred man continued to stand beside her as he searched her face. “You.”

Arya swallowed hard. Stupid tears sprang to her eyes. “No, Sandor, you can’t just . . .”

He cut her off. “I love you.”

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. She tried again. “No, you . . .”

He interrupted her again. “I love you and I’ve been a fool. I will do whatever it takes, I will face anyone who objects and I will fight whomever I have to fight. The whole world can fuck off. You are all I care about.”

“So, you think you can just waltz up to me out of nowhere and tell me you want me and I will just fall into your arms?”

Sandor looked at her steadily as he put each of his hands on her waist. “Won’t you, Arya? Won’t you be mine? Could you marry a man such as me?”

Arya looked down into Sandor’s dear, wonderful face. He appeared to be holding his breath. She could feel his hands trembling. Arya Stark, the girl who had more courage than sense, threw her leg over her horse and jumped down into the arms of the man she loved.

After they were finished kissing for an exceptionally long time in the middle of the Kingsroad, Sandor and Arya rode into Winter Town. They made their way to the alehouse, the Smoking Log. Once inside, everyone took one look at Arya and clustered around her. They tried to jostle Sandor out of the way but he was not having it. He elbowed whoever tried to come between him and his woman. A round of ale was given on the house. They toasted to their own, Arya Stark, the Bringer of Dawn.

There was raucous laughter and noise until Arya cleared her throat. Everyone quieted to listen. She raised her cup. “And to the man who saved the Bringer of Dawn, Lord Sandor Clegane.” Nearly everyone frowned. They began to mutter but Arya still held her cup aloft and stared them all down. She would not let them toast her unless they toasted him too.

Someone finally called out. “To Lord Sandor!” His name was repeated all around the room and then Arya drank her ale. Someone purchased a second round and then a third. Sandor couldn’t keep his eyes off her. He was deeply touched by what she had just done.

They were finally accorded some privacy at a small table nearest the fire. They sat next to each other and Sandor held her hand under the table. “It’s not that I’m not happy you finally decided to join me, Sandor, but where in the Seven Hellls have you been?”

Sandor explained about all of his delays. Then he had to bring up something else that was bothering him. “Arya, before I left Casterly Rock I sent a raven to the King asking his permission to marry you.”

Arya gave him an incredulous look. “Well, I never! You certainly were sure of yourself.” She huffed. “What if I had said no?”

He leaned over and rubbed her nose with his. “Oh, don’t you worry, Girl, I’m sure I could have come up with a good way to convince you.”

Arya’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Tell me more.”

Sandor couldn’t help it. He licked his lips.

The publican interrupted them with another round of ale.

Sandor remembered what he had been about to tell her. “I asked the King to send his response to Riverrun but when I got there your uncle said there was no raven for me.”

Arya quirked her dark eyebrow again. “You can always ask Sansa for permission.”

“Oh, no. I’ll just have to drag you all the way back to King’s Landing to plead my case before your brother in person if I have to.”

Arya frowned. “What if they both refuse their permission? It’s possible.”

“Then, I would ask them again and again until they agreed. If all else failed, I would ask you to consider traveling across the sea with me so we could marry there and live as husband and wife.”

Arya could sense by his nervousness that he was afraid that she might refuse him. She put her hand on the side of his face and turned it towards her. “I don’t have to consider it. We would go wherever was necessary, Sandor.”

He put his hand over hers and brought it to his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm apologize to those of you expecting this to be the final chapter. I'm afraid I couldn't quite squeeze it all in. The next chapter will definitely be the last one. It's almost all written. Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoyed this next-to-last chapter! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!


	22. Never Again

Sansa looked supremely regal in her Northern woolen, leather and fur-lined gown and simple crown. It made Arya want to cry. Sansa tried to act properly, she really did. She tried to use all the etiquette Septa Mordane had taught her but it wouldn’t do. She ran and threw herself at Arya like a child. Arya did the same. They were talking over the top of each other a mile a minute when Sansa caught sight of Sandor over Arya’s shoulder.

“What’s he doing here?”

Arya gulped. “He’s uh, with me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He brought me here.” Arya answered more firmly.

“But you sent me a raven from Riverrun saying Lord Gendry was accompanying you.”

Arya shrugged her shoulders. “Gendry had some other business to attend to?”

“Don’t you lie to me, Arya Stark.” She hissed as she grabbed her arm and pulled her close so she could whisper in her ear and her Court wouldn’t overhear them. “I think you have some explaining to do.” The Queen in the North then bid them to bathe, rest and then they would feast.

Arya glanced over her shoulder at Sandor as she was being ushered away by a plethora of handmaidens. Sandor turned to leave as well.

Sansa glared at him. “Not so fast, Lord Sandor. I think while Arya is busy, you and I should have a word.”

Queen Sansa dismissed her Court. She made her way to her throne. She looked at him expectantly. Finally, she cleared her throat. “You may kneel before me now and formally greet your Queen.”

Technically, she wasn’t his Queen, he wasn’t from the North but Sandor guessed this wasn’t the best time to argue. He knelt before her and she bid him to rise.

“Now, whose idea was it for you to run away together?” Sansa started in.

“We didn’t _run away_ together. We went away so I could recover from my injuries.”

“So, you expect me to believe Arya has been selflessly nursing you all this time?”

Sandor could feel his face getting warm. “She took care of me.” He answered carefully.

“I bet she did.”

“You listen to me! Don’t you dare say anything like that about Arya. I respected her at all times just as she respected me. She is the bravest most honorable woman I know. She has more heart in her than a thousand men. She has seen and done things the likes of what you and I could never imagine. I will make it up to her. I will help her to heal. She deserves the very best of what the world has to offer and I aim to make sure she gets it. I would die for her if needs be. I have not dishonored Arya in any way. I will not bed her until we are wed which I fully intend to do regardless of whether you or any Stark says different!”

Sansa was stunned by Sandor’s outburst. She wanted to scoff at his proclamation but something stopped her. His sincerity was evident in his face. This snarling dog had been brought to heel by her sister. She had the grace to be ashamed of herself for suspecting his motives. She believed him. In spite of what anyone thought, she wanted Arya to be happy more than anything. She gave him a cautious smile. “Sandor, are you trying to tell me you are in love with Arya?”

His words had shocked him even as he said them but every one of them was true. He took in her smile. He decided there must be a lot of good that could come from speaking from the heart. He didn’t know why he didn’t realize it sooner. “Yes, I love her.” He answered quietly.

. . . . .

Before dinner Sansa arrived at Arya’s room and they went down to the crypts to pay their respects to the dead. Some of the massive stone likenesses had been damaged during the Battle of Winterfell. Much of Winterfell was still damaged and destroyed but Sansa was making great strides in restoring it to its former glory. Arya breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that Sansa had seen to it that the tombs of Father, Mother, Robb and Rickon were repaired. They lit a candle and knelt down to pray.

When they had finished, Arya thanked Sansa for all that she’d done.

“Of course, Arya.” She put her arm around her sister’s shoulders. “You seem much better than when you were here the last time. You seem so much more like your old self. I’m so glad.”

Arya turned to look at her. “I’m sorry I worried you. It’s true. I am doing better.”

“It’s Sandor, isn’t it? He’s helped you.”

“We’ve helped each other.”

“Do you love him, Arya?”

“It’s funny. I used to despise him. I even tried to bash his head in with a rock once.” She smiled sheepishly. “No one can make me as mad as he can. But the truth is, I do love him.”

Sansa pushed Arya’s hair out of her eyes. “Promise me you won’t let years go by before I see you again.”

“I won’t.” Arya whispered.

Later that evening just before the feast ended; Sansa stood and produced a letter from her pocket. “I believe this is for you, Lord Clegane. It arrived weeks ago.”

Sandor was sitting beside Arya. He stood and accepted the letter from Sansa’s hand. It was stamped with the royal seal of King Bran the Broken. Sandor looked down at Arya. She stood up alongside him so she could read the letter along with him. Sandor broke the seal. He steeled himself and took a deep breath. He was only able to get through the first sentence. “Bran the Broken, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm hereby gives and grants permission for Lord Sandor Clegane of House Clegane to wed the Lady Arya Stark of House Stark and the Bringer of Dawn.”

Sandor was too stunned to move. Arya squealed. Sansa turned to her. “I give my permission too, if anyone cares to ask.” She laughed as Arya threw her arms around her. 

Then Arya turned to Sandor and looked up at him with a big smile on her face. “Remember how you used to complain that the Starks were so stupid and honorable? What do you think of them now?”

Sandor took Arya into his arms. At first, she thought he was shaking with laughter; then she squeezed him tighter when she realized he wasn’t laughing. He was crying.

. . . . .

The Queen announced the betrothal. If anyone wasn’t particularly fond of the groom they were too polite to say anything. They just hoped with all their might that the former Hound would do right by the younger daughter of the North. Winterfell was thrown into a frenzy as everyone started preparing for the wedding like mad.

Sansa and a troop of seamstresses began to sew day and night. They made Arya a lovely ivory wedding gown out of soft wool with fur trim. Sansa embroidered elaborate flowers and ribbons along the sleeves and neckline. Arya was dubious but decided she would consent to a dress this one time. She liked her new cloak much better. It was to be her final House Stark cloak. She ran her hands over the smartly detailed direwolf.

Sandor hated his family’s sigil of three black dogs on a yellow field. It reminded him of Gregor and everything horrible it signified. It was Sansa who decided since House Clegane was now a noble House, they should have a new design. Sandor was touched. Sansa and Arya came up with the idea of a black dog and a black direwolf facing each other with a rising sun behind them on a grey background. When they showed the cloak with with its new design to Sandor, he couldn’t have been more pleased. He didn’t tell Arya but the grey reminded him of her beautiful, grey Northern eyes.

The day before the wedding, Sandor found Arya in the Godswood. She was praying before the giant Heart tree to the Old Gods of the Forest. Sandor waited quietly for her to finish. She stood and turned to him and smiled and held out her hand. He took her hand and stood beside her. Even though he had been raised in the Faith of the Seven, he had to admit there was something here in the Godswood. He could feel it in his bones. Whatever it was, it gave Arya a sense of peace. Sandor knelt down and gazed at the massive tree with its giant carved face and thanked the Gods of the Forest for giving Arya peace and for giving him Arya. He stood and turned to her and kissed her tenderly.

. . . . .

The day of the wedding dawned crisp and clear. The first ceremony would be held in the small sept that had been built for Arya’s mother as she had followed the Faith. Arya was bathed and perfumed. Her hair was braided simply as was the style in the North. The ceremony wasn’t until late in the afternoon and Arya began to get nervous. She knew she could fight but could she love? Could she give Sandor what he needed? She knew he didn’t expect her to wear dresses and put down her sword but he must have some expectations of her as the lady of his House. And what about children? They hadn’t even discussed it. She began to frown more and more.

Sansa could sense her sister’s unease. “Listen to me, Arya. There’s nothing to worry about. Don’t tell me you are getting cold feet.” She laughed.

“Oh, no. It’s not that I’m unsure of Sandor. What if I fail him?”

“I don’t think there’s any way possible you could fail him. I think he loves you like Father loved Mother.”

Arya hugged Sansa as they both shed some tears.

. . . . .

Sansa waited beside her in the castle as everyone else filed into the sept. “I’m going into the sept now, Arya.”

Arya panicked. “What? Wait, you can’t! I thought you were going to walk me down the aisle. I can’t walk myself down the aisle!”

“You won’t have to walk yourself down the aisle. There’s someone else here who has traveled a long way for the privilege.”

“What? Who?” Arya heard footsteps behind her. She turned and there was Jon. She quickly ran to him and threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Jon! How are you here? How is this possible?”

“I arrived last night. It was really hard to keep it from you.” He laughed. “Bran sent me a raven. He asked me to return to Winterfell for a family matter. He didn’t tell me you were getting married.”

“I’m so glad you’re here, Jon.”

“I can’t believe you are getting married. I thought you always hated the idea.”

“I did, Jon, I would have been happy just to run away with Sandor and live together as husband and wife without the fuss but . . .”

Jon gaped at her with a shocked look on his face.

Arya laughed. “Don’t worry. He wasn’t about to let that happen. He once told me a man has to have a code. This is a part of his code.”

“Well, thank the Gods one of you has some sense!” Jon sputtered.

Sandor stood nervously beside the Septon between the statues as the Septon recited prayers and read from the holy text of the Seven-Pointed Star. When he was finished, Jon led Arya into the room. She clutched at his arm tightly. She took a deep breath. Jon squeezed her arm to give her courage and then walked her down the aisle. Jon solemnly presented his sister to Sandor. Sandor took her hand. He was shaking like a leaf.

The Septon instructed Sandor. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Sandor removed Arya’s cloak and draped his cloak around her shoulders.

Then the Septon proclaimed, “My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

As the Septon tied a ribbon in a knot around their hands he intoned. “Let it be known that Arya Stark of House Stark and Sandor Clegane of House Clegane are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder.”

After the Septon was finished with the ribbon he stood facing them again. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” Then he unraveled the ribbon.

The Septon once again instructed the bride and groom. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Sandor and Arya looked into each other’s eyes and spoke simultaneously. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger . . . Sandor pledged, “I am hers and she is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.” While Arya pledged at the same time, “I am his and he is mine. From this day, until the end of my days.”

Sandor smiled, “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” They looked into each other’s eyes and saw the light of love shining for each other there. He then kissed his bride. They both turned toward those assembled while holding each other’s hand tightly. The audience loudly applauded the new couple.

They went on to a rather lavish feast. The people were pleased to have a wedding. It was a balm to the tragedy they’d all suffered not that long ago during the battle.They celebrated with lots of good cheer, drinking and dancing. Towards the end of the feast, Jon, Sandor and a very select few of the trusted friends and servants of the Starks slipped away into the dark. They lit some torches and carried them into the Godswood. Sandor and Jon waited under the Heart tree.

Sansa escorted Arya to the tree and presented her to Jon.

Jon asked, “Who comes before the Old Gods this night?”

Sansa answered. “Arya, of House Stark, comes here to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

Sandor stepped forward. “Sandor, of House Clegane. Who gives her?”

“Sansa, of House Stark, Queen of the North.”

Jon asked, “Lady Arya , do you take this man?”

“I take this man.” Arya’s voice rang out.

It was done.

Jon and Sansa hugged the happy couple. Sansa exclaimed, “Come on back inside. It’s freezing out here!”

Arya smiled. “Give us a moment, won’t you?”

The little party laughed and sang as they disappeared into the night.

Arya peered at the ancient Heart tree and the other trees of the Godswood. The Heart tree had been a sentinel over Winterfell for at least 8000 years. It had seen so much. Her destiny was bound tightly to this place for this was where she had defeated the Night King and saved the Realm of Men and brought the dawn. It was also fitting that this was where she had saved herself and became one with the only man that understood and accepted her. He knew who she was and he was still by her side. She glanced at Sandor and found him watching her with a knowing look in his eye.

“Do we not get to kiss at this ceremony as well?” He teased.

She opened her arms and then Sandor was there all around her, enveloping her against his solid, protective chest and warming her with his love. She had been wrong. She thought her heart had turned black but it hadn't, it was only frozen. It had been Sandor who had warmed her heart and thawed it out. He had brought her back to life.

He kissed her sweetly. She was ready to show him how much he meant to her. “Come, Sandor, let’s go back to the feast and thank our guests and bid them goodnight.”

. . . . .

Their new room was much larger than her childhood bedroom. She laughed when she thought about how Sandor’s legs would have been too long for her bed. The handmaidens that were helping her out of her wedding dress smiled at each other over the top of Arya’s head. Sansa had made her a nightdress and matching robe out of the finest silk from Essos. She had embroidered it with loving care. Arya had never worn anything like it. She dismissed her servants and sat down at her vanity to brush her dark hair. She looked at her reflection. She wasn’t about to be mistaken for a boy now.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Arya?”

“Come in, Sandor.”

The door opened and Sandor closed it again and stood with his back to it. He gazed at Arya. He was suddenly very nervous. She was the most exquisite woman he’d ever seen and he’d married her. He remembered the dirty, torn rags she’d worn as a child and then the finely tailored mens' clothing she’d adopted after her return from Braavos. She had reminded him of her father. Now, she had somehow transformed herself into a goddess.

Arya sat at her vanity with a smile playing around her lips. She enjoyed the affect she was having on her husband. She’d never experienced anything like it before. She put down her silver hairbrush. She stood and untied her sash. “Would you mind helping me with my robe?” She said invitingly.

Sandor’s brain wasn’t working very well at the moment. Arya quirked her dark eyebrow and beckoned him with a slight motion of her hand. She turned her back to him and slowly began to slip the robe from her shoulders. Suddenly, Sandor reacted and moved to her quickly. His hands slid over the smooth fabric. The minute he touched her he realized she’d done something to him. He was utterly bewitched. He hastily threw her robe over the chair.

He kissed the back of her neck as he encircled her waist with his arms. He looked over her shoulder and could see her dark nipples as they peaked against the silken material. His hands surged upwards from her waist of their own volition. As he cupped both of her breasts in his large hands and slid his thumbs over her stiff peaks, Arya’s head lolled back onto his chest and a long drawn out moan of satisfaction escaped her lips.

It sent Sandor over the edge. He was suddenly frantic. By the Gods, he’d waited long enough. He swiftly lifted her up and carried her to the bed. He was careful to put her down gently but then he wildly began to divest himself of his clothing.

His sword, dagger and belt hit the floor with a thud. He urgently pulled off his beautifully tailored wedding finery as if it was imprisoning him and he couldn’t wait to break free. Arya watched in disbelief as the last of his constraining clothing hit the floor. She swallowed hard. What had she gotten herself into? Sandor stood naked before her in all his fine, chiseled glory. Oh! He had such long legs and muscular thighs; she was certain he was as fine a man has had ever lived. Oh! There was something else just as fine and proud and ever so substantial that had to be reckoned with. How was she ever going to . . . how was this ever going to work?

Sandor cut short Arya’s panicked thoughts as he reached for her nightdress and lifted it over her head. He was desperate. Silk was fine and all but as he touched her he realized it didn’t compare to the absolute delicacy of her skin. Sandor lay down over her and kissed her until she was breathless. All the while they explored, touched and tasted each other’s bodies as they kissed more and more fervently. Arya could feel Sandor’s restrained power under her fingertips. She wanted nothing more than to release it. So she did. They made love until the dawn.

Just before Arya fell into an exhausted sleep, she murmured to Sandor, “Never again will I leave your side.”

Sandor responded, “Never again will I let anyone or anything keep me from you, Girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sandor and Arya went on to raise a large family along with dogs, wolves and even destriers. They built a new good and strong home and Sandor became the good and strong man he was always meant to be. If his sassy, unconventional Lady liked to wear men's clothing and swing a sword, no one objected. She was the Bringer of Dawn after all.
> 
> Most of all, they were good to each other and loved one another. They still do and will continue to do so until time and times are done. And if such a thing is possible; even longer that that.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story! Comments and Kudos are always welcome!
> 
> Shout out to Mludwig1256 for the destriers suggestion! I especially want to thank the lovely flower, Emilie_L_C for all of her kind comments and support! It was greatly appreciated.


End file.
